Shades of Grey
by Dasque
Summary: A full Origins novel. The game story of Elissa and Alistair from the "Here Without You" universe.
1. The Call

**Disclaimer: **Dragon Age still does not belong to me. Nor is it likely to anytime soon. I am simply borrowing their characters, though I can't promise I'll give them back in the same health I took them in.

_**A/N**__: This is the game story of the events that took place before _Here Without You._ Therefore, it contains loads of game dialogue, full plot, and lots and lots of stuff you already know about. You have been warned._

_Also, I'm just going to save time and state right here that this entire story is beta'd by the awesome Mackillian, editor extraordinaire. Her writing is definitely worth checking out, as well._

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**_The Call_**

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_All difficult things have their origin in that which is easy, and great things in that which is small._

_~Lao-Tzu_

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Her life was bound by a name. Elissa Cousland, only daughter to Teyrn Bryce Cousland. Her elder brother Fergus would inherit the vast teyrnir of Highever one day, carrying on the name that was scattering throughout the history books, painted with honor and dignity and second only to Theirin, the name of the kings.

She was less important than Fergus.

That was what the nobility of Ferelden had hinted at since the day of her birth, their polite smiles disguising the calculated inquiries regarding her current suitor. She had the gall to be born a girl when a man as powerful as Bryce really needed another son—an heir and a spare, as the saying went—and if she had any decency at all she would spend all her energy thinking of nothing but marriages and alliances and proper ways to run a household.

They were confounded that she did not.

Even at the tender age of fourteen, Elissa was sure that had she been anyone else, those _were _the thoughts that would fill her mind, those troublesome details that were considered women's matters. Sometimes she wondered if she would have been content with such an existence, or if the soul that burned within her would have always demanded more freedom, eventually turning bitter and resentful at the feel of being young and muzzled, discussed like a treaty by old men to whom she was nothing more than a commodity.

She was grateful she never had to find out.

She led a charmed life, one full of comfort and love. Unlike the circumstances that befell so many of her friends as the years passed, her father never viewed her as an unwanted burden to be married off, instead doting on his only daughter until she was in real danger of being spoiled.

That never did occur, however, for in his indulgence, he allowed her to train in swordplay. Such a thing was not common, but was far more accepted in Ferelden than in the nearby nations of Orlais and Antiva. Strong women bred strong sons, in the Ferelden mind, and a history sprinkled with female heroes and warrior queens began a transition that earned them the reputation of habitual barbarism from their more "civilized" neighbors. Elissa's own mother had been a warrior in her younger years, and although their status insisted that she chide Elissa regarding manners and appearance, she was secretly happy to allow her daughter to learn the craft.

Not wanting his little girl to spend her time loitering in the training yard, Teyrn Bryce assigned one of the younger men, newly sworn to knighthood, to oversee her lessons. Ser Gilmore was only a handful of years older than Elissa, but he didn't take the task lightly, and some much-needed discipline was instilled in the youngest Cousland. Hands that were unaccustomed to work of any kind cracked and bled after their practice sessions, wringing tears from her bright blue eyes. It was only her stubbornness that allowed her to continue, spending day after day in the broiling sun lunging at hay bales while the knight criticized her stance or grip until she wanted to scream. Yet she did it again the next day, and the next, ignoring the lamenting sighs from her mother when her hands finally hardened against the exertion and her nails broke and split.

During the evening, Ser Gilmore cleaned and bandaged her wounds himself, speaking in a gentle voice about the rapid progress she was making, giving her the strength to continue.

The determination served her well, in the end. Elissa learned quickly to use her own talents to her advantage, rather than relying on brute strength she would never develop. She was uncommonly quick, and had a keen mind and a sharp eye. She was also known to use less honorable tactics if the situation warranted, having no qualms about throwing a fistful of dirt in the eyes of a larger attacker to gain the upper hand. Ser Gilmore, who knew the world that lay beyond the protective walls of Highever Castle, was in full support of this behavior. He was not training her for knighthood, and so did not bother with lectures of honor and accountability. Never in her life would she face an opponent in an honor duel or mock combat, and if the harshness of the world demanded that she lift her blades in real conflict one day, he promised she would do so prepared.

He trained her to _win_.

Between the devotion of her family and the hard care given by her friend, Elissa grew into a likable young woman with a lust for life and a ready laugh. She was tall for a woman, and slender from her years of training, yet utterly feminine with her long black hair and bright blue eyes. Completely unaware of her own charms, she was often seen running through the halls of the great estate with her hound Aiden at her side, her throaty laughter echoing off the walls while her guardians looked on fondly.

… …

She was seventeen when her parents began pressing the issue of marriage. Elissa knew it was her one real duty to her family, to make a good match and provide her father with a strong alliance, but still she could not help the tingle of dread that crawled along her spine whenever the matter was broached. She enjoyed the company of boys her own age, and every so often she liked one enough to allow him a few stolen kisses in a dark corner, but never did she feel the desire to make one her own, to even consider the possibility of forever. The more she resisted, the more noble sons were paraded in front of her, until she began to despise the sound of approaching carriages that signaled her mother had invited more eligible guests to Highever.

"What about Ser Gilmore?" her mother asked one day in the early autumn of her eighteenth year. They had retired to the women's hall to continue their sewing after the noon meal. Highever owed each servitor one shirt or dress each year as part of their maintenance, as well as being a self-sustaining household that produced most of the clothing for the family. It fell to the womenfolk to provide this small mountain of clothes. Elissa never balked at what she saw as duty to her clan, and there was a certain honor amongst the women in regards to the fineness of their stitching. Recently, though, she had done all in her power to avoid that particular chore.

It was no longer anything more than an opportunity for her mother to ambush her.

She scowled down at the shirt she was embroidering for her brother to wear to the Landsmeet in Denerim, letting her ire focus on the tiny stitches in the knotted design rather than on her mother. "_No,_ Mother."

The marriage talks had grown more intense since good King Maric had suddenly died at sea over the summer. Cailan inherited his father's crown and soon after married Anora Mac Tir—a union that Eleanor had coveted for Elissa one day.

"He's far beneath your station, granted, but he _is _loyal to Highever. And he's managed to keep your attention for longer than a fortnight. That ought to count for something."

She chose to ignore the exasperation that had crept into her mother's tone. "He's a friend."

"You've said that of all your suitors."

Which was true enough, she supposed, but was particularly true in this case.

Eleanor sighed loudly, and Elissa knew her mind was also on the failed prospect of a throne to seal the Cousland legacy. "If only you were a little older. Cailan would have chosen you over Anora without hesitation, I know it. You're far prettier than she is."

Elissa wasn't as confident as her mother. "Loghain and Maric were best friends. Anora and Cailan have known each other since they were children. And she's a splendid queen."

"As you would have been, my sweet." She shook her head and returned to her stitching. "Oh, well—what's done is done. I suppose Ser Gilmore must seem terribly dull to you after all this talk of being given to a king."

In truth, Elissa had been terrified at the idea of being married off to Cailan and only relieved with the brief talks were halted, but she wasn't going to tell her mother that. "Being married to Ser Gilmore would be too strange. He's like an older brother to me. And before you press the issue, Fergus is a definite _no_ as well."

Her mother's mouth hung open for the barest of seconds before she caught herself and snapped it shut, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and affection. "I swear, the things you say sometimes!"

Elissa only grinned in reply, sensing she had won this round and now would be permitted to work in peace. "I'll settle down eventually, Mum. I promise."

Teyrna Eleanor shook her head, but Elissa could see the smile trying to escape around the corners of her mouth. "I know you mean it, my love, but truly,

I have my doubts sometimes."

… …

For as long as she could remember, Elissa had loved stories. She was familiar with the tales of the previous Blights and the Grey Wardens—warriors who dedicated their very existence to keeping the surface world safe from the darkspawn threat that reportedly never stopped churning in the dark of the underground. When she was a child, she would often pester her elderly tutor for tales of ancient heroes and warrior queens of old, listening with rapturous attention never given to her other studies as he spoke of sacrifice and knights who stemmed the tide of evil that threatened the land.

Somehow, she never remembered being terrified by the truth behind the tales. Like most people, the past had become something of a fairytale to Elissa, distant and easily forgotten. Over the years, the monsters had become the whispers of legend, stuffed away between the pages of history books and forgotten by those out of the path of immediate danger. Even when rumors began floating up from the south of a darkspawn horde walking in the light of the sun, they were passed off as a matter of curiosity and little more, mentioned in passing at the supper table and just as easily written off as a problem for the Wardens.

When the call came from King Cailan himself for the nobility of Ferelden to rally their men and ready to secure the southern border, the old stories became far too real.

… …

News of the Grey Warden's arrival spread long before her father summoned her. Elissa had seen twenty-two summers by then, and was down in the yard helping with the last minute preparations before her father and brother rode out at the head of the army when the servant came with the message that the teyrn wished her presence in the great hall. She hurried to obey, eager to see this legendary guest of theirs, even if his arrival only confirmed a secret fear that had been growing in her mind since the call from King Cailan. The Grey Wardens were recruiting again.

That meant the problem was much, much more serious than a surface raid.

When she found her father, she was disappointed to see that his only comp-any was Arl Howe, a vassal of Highever and her father's oldest friend.

The arl's head was lowered in embarrassment as he explained his tardiness in joining the muster. "I am sorry, my lord. It took a great deal longer to gather my forces than I had anticipated. We will be ready to march on the morrow. I offer my deepest apologies."

Bryce sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "No, old friend, I can't blame you. This summons from His Majesty has caught us all with our pants down, as it were. Fergus can lead my own troops to Ostagar, and tomorrow you and I will ride together, just like the old days."

Howe forced out what was apparently meant to be a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "Except then we were fighting Orlesians, not… monsters."

"It's about bloody time, if you ask me. The dwarves have been left alone with this menace for too long. If the darkspawn have dared to again venture to the surface, we should have joined the fighting long ago." He began to pace, but stopped short at the sight of Elissa and offered her a warm smile. "There you are, my sweet. Howe, you remember my daughter?"

Elissa offered him as reasonable a curtsey as she could manage wearing loose trousers. The arl bowed deeply, and something in his eyes told her she was not going to like what he said next.

She wasn't disappointed.

"I see she's become a lovely young woman. I'm very pleased to see you again, my dear. My son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time. He saw you at a Denerim fair and has talked of you ever since."

She briefly struggled with an intense desire to sigh aloud and forced out a smile instead. "I would like that, my lord."

"Good! He'll be pleased you remember him."

Her father came to her rescue, then, rapidly changing what he knew had become a very unwelcome subject. "At any rate, Elissa, I summoned you here for a reason. The king has requested that we strip our fortguard for this march. No more than a token force will remain here."

For a moment, it was a little hard to breathe. "Are things as dire as all that?"

Bryce looked away, gazing out the window as if he could see the battlefield from where he stood, grim and grey despite the warmth of the afternoon sun pouring through the windows and pooling on the highly polished floors. "I won't lie to you," he said at last. "The darkspawn numbers are greater than any of us could have anticipated. But Arl Howe and I bring a large number of men with us to the muster, and the Grey Wardens are there, as well. Which brings me to the second reason I brought you here." He gestured to one of the servants standing in attendance near the door. "Please, show Duncan in."

The Grey Warden was a striking figure. His pitch black hair was tied back in a short ponytail, pulled away from a swarthy, unreadable face that was darkened further by a neatly trimmed beard. A glint of gold hanging from his ear caught in the light. A long, curved nose jutted out from an overhanging brow, casting his dark eyes in shadow. The glint in those eyes stubbornly refused to be extinguished, and as his gaze found hers, Elissa felt like he could see right through her. The depth of experience looking back at her made her feel abruptly foolish, like all her training until now had been nothing more than a silly childhood game she should have abandoned years before. This man was a true warrior, born and bred to walk in the company of the night, and one who had seen more of battle and supposed glory than she ever wished to.

"It is an honor to be a guest in your hall, Teyrn Cousland," he said in a voice as dark as his eyes, bowing with unexpected grace.

Howe looked as unnerved as she felt in the presence of the strange man. "Your lordship, you did not mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

Bryce gave a careless shrug. "Duncan arrived just today, unannounced." He raised an eyebrow at his friend's increasing discomfort. "Is there a problem?"

Realizing his breach of etiquette, the arl hurried to smooth the situation over. "Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain… protocol. I am at a disadvantage."

"It's rare we have the opportunity to shelter such an important guest. Duncan is here looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Grey Wardens in the south. I believe he has his eye on Ser Gilmore."

At that, Elissa smiled brightly, for although she would miss him terribly if he was asked to join, it was high time someone realized the value of her friend. Duncan was watching her curiously, and once again she got the faint impression he could somehow see more than he should, could examine her heart and soul as though they laid open on display, and she stepped back warily.

"If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter would also make an excellent candidate."

Elissa was completely taken aback, wondering if he knew that she had never so much as seen a real battle in her entire life.

Suddenly, that seemed a rather crucial hole in her training.

Her father was quick to step in front of her, his posture protective enough that she got the impression he would shield her from the Grey Warden's sight, if he could. "Honor though that may be, this is my _daughter_ we're talking about."

Arl Howe laughed, and for some reason the sound annoyed her. "Aren't you the one always saying the Grey Wardens are heroes? I would have expected you to be excited by the prospect."

"I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle," Bryce replied in a tone just short of a snarl. He raised an eyebrow at the Warden, and there was a challenge in his voice when he asked, "Unless you plan on invoking the Right of Conscription?"

Duncan shook his head and held up one hand in a gesture of peace. "Have no fear. While we need as many good recruits as possible, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

Her father visibly relaxed at that, and Elissa released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Elissa," Bryce said, carefully neutral, "go and fetch your brother."

He wanted her gone, she realized. He didn't want the Grey Warden to see any more of her than was necessary while he remained in Highever. With a nod, she did as she was told.

Ser Gilmore was waiting outside for her when she emerged, leaning casually against the wall and munching on an apple stolen from the kitchens. "There you are," he said after a quick swallow. "Your mother asked me to find you. Your hound has the kitchen staff in hysterics again. Nan is threatening to leave. Again."

Elissa heaved a sigh. "I swear, Aiden only does it to get Nan riled. She should stop obliging him."

"Your mother disagrees. She insists you collect the dog, and quickly. Anyone else risks having his arm bitten off."

"Rubbish. He'd listen to you."

"I'm not of a mind to test that theory. With all respect, milady."

They walked in silence for a while, easy company with no need for words, and Elissa allowed her mind to wander to the Grey Warden and the war he represented. "Have you ever heard of the Right of Conscription?" she asked.

Ser Gilmore looked startled by the abruptness of the question. "The what?"

"Something that Father mentioned to the Warden. He asked him if he intended to invoke the Right of Conscription."

"Oh, _that_. It goes back centuries—to the last Blight, I believe. The Grey Wardens hold the power to enlist anyone they deem fit into their order. Once they invoke the Right, you are obligated to undergo the Joining. Even the king is hesitant to intercede."

Elissa went suddenly cold, considering how close she had just come to being pulled away from her home. "How did they get that kind of power?"

"Saving the world, I would imagine. From what I understand, they are wise enough to use it sparingly, so no one rises up to try to get it overturned. Duncan is here looking for recruits, not slaves. They wield conscription mostly when the recruit is hard to get free."

Elissa's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Hard to get free?"

He gave her an amused smile. "The Grey Wardens are famous for taking anyone who can swing a sword or draw a bow, my lady. They have little care for a man's past or morals, and pride themselves on doing whatever is necessary to fight the darkspawn. They've pulled one neck out the noose, if the criminal proves useful enough."

She could only stare at him, honestly shocked. Recruiting thieves and murderers was one of those things that never got mentioned in the tales.

As she made her way to the kitchens to rein in her troublesome dog, she allowed her mind to fill with fancies of following the Grey Warden. The idea of living her life as a warrior and guardian of Ferelden, vague and mysterious as a nearly forgotten order–it had its appeal. Elissa chuckled to herself and stored the fantasy in the back of her mind where it belonged. Better to stick with reality, even the mundane existence that seemed determined to find and trap her.

Her mother's hints had long since ceased to be subtle.


	2. Portends

**Chapter ****Two**

_**Portends**_

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_If fate means for you to lose, give him a good fight anyhow._

_~ William McFee_

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"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year. The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king."

Elissa had learned to recognize when her mother had company, and for a moment she considered taking another hall to Fergus' room to avoid whatever friend's noble son was certain to be with them. She wasn't accustomed to running and hiding, though, and so instead, she took a deep breath and turned the corner.

She was relieved to see that the visiting noblewoman was Landra, Bann Loren's wife. With her was her son, of course, but Elissa didn't mind too much, because Dairren was charming and funny and as adamantly against the idea of marriage as she was. He was lounging in one of the chairs beneath the shelter of the gazebo, looking utterly bored with the conversation, but he perked up immediately upon seeing her and got to his feet, reaching out to kiss her hand in a courtly gesture.

"And here's my lovely daughter," Eleanor said and smiled, though her eyes were stern. "Can I assume by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?"

"Yes," Elissa answered with some exasperation, because Aiden had actually been worrying over rats in the pantry and not causing trouble at all. "He killed the kitchen staff, but at least it's quiet now."

Landra's smile turned into something more like a grimace and Dairren valiantly attempted to disguise a chuckle as a cough, but the sarcasm didn't ruffle her mother at all. "Well, at least one of us will have had a decent meal, then."

Aiden gave a happy bark as if in confirmation. Smart enough not to talk, it was said of the mabari, and Elissa had been with Aiden long enough to know it was true.

Lady Landra smiled brightly. "My goodness, Elissa, you've grown so much since last I saw you." Elissa immediately recognized the appraising look in her eyes. It hadn't been so very long, only a year, but she wasn't surprised the woman didn't remember it well, since she had spent the entirety of Eleanor's spring salon thoroughly inebriated. "Didn't I spend my last visit trying to convince you to marry my son?"

She said it humorously, but Dairren scowled at the reminder. "And making an extremely poor case for it, I might add."

Landra ignored him. "You do remember my son, do you not?" Something in her expression darkened and she added in an undertone obviously meant to carry, "He's not married yet, either."

Elissa knew the expression that flitted behind Dairren's eyes at that very well—irritation mixed with guilt. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling the pressure to fulfill familial duties. "I'm very pleased to see you again, my lady," he said, and Elissa sincerely hoped her mother didn't catch the wink he gave her when he bowed in her direction. If her parents knew just how much of courting she had learned from Dairren, they would be less than thrilled. Not that she wasn't still innocent in such matters—just less innocent than they believed.

"Have you said goodbye to Fergus yet, darling?" Eleanor asked, pouring another cup of tea for her guests as Dairren took his seat again.

Elissa was a little grateful for the opportunity to excuse herself. "I'm headed there now, actually."

"Good. Come, let me walk with you a way." She politely excused herself and took Elissa's arm, leading her down the open corridor. Dairren gave Elissa one last pleading look as she left, but she only smirked at him when his mother leaned in to speak to him in a hushed voice, undoubtedly about her and possible prospects.

The sun was high overhead, and she began to consider the fact she needed to get to Fergus and tell him to leave before it got much later, but her mother's hold on her was one that indicated purpose, and so instead she prompted her to speak. "Did you know there was a Grey Warden here?"

Eleanor nodded, thoughtful. "Yes, your father mentioned that." She sighed and looked sidelong at her daughter, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. "You haven't gotten it into your head you want to be recruited?"

Elissa smiled innocently. "Father wouldn't allow it."

"Nor I. And I do realize you didn't answer my question. There's enough here at the castle to occupy you. I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother." She sighed again, pensive and drawn. Elissa was beginning to worry something else was wrong. Eleanor confirmed it a moment later, uttering softly, "I have a bad feeling about all this."

She had never seen her mother display anything other than carefully constructed calm, and the worry in her tone now made Elissa glance at her questioningly. Eleanor saw the look and explained, "Your father and brother are marching off to fight Maker knows what. All the assurances in the world don't comfort me. But it wouldn't help at all if we were to take up arms and follow." There was a faraway look in her eyes, and in that moment Elissa remembered that her mother was a warrior, back before she was born. It had never occurred to her to consider how difficult it was for Eleanor to stand by and watch while her men took up the burden of protecting them, leaving her behind.

Eleanor seemed to follow her train of thought, and she gave Elissa a small smile, shaking her head ever so slightly. "Fergus and your brother have their duty, and we have ours. Our responsibility lies with the caring of our people. You know this."

She did, having had the lesson drilled into her head for as long as she could remember. Being a noble meant caring for those beneath you, not the other way around. Still, she couldn't help but envy her brother a little, for despite her sheltered life, she was sure that riding into the fight instead of staying behind in a quiet castle was the easier of the two responsibilities.

Quite suddenly, Eleanor stopped walking and placed a gentle hand on Elissa's cheek, her eyes roaming carefully over her face. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course," Elissa replied, baffled. "What brought this on?"

"You've just grown up so fast, and now Bryce is leaving you as regent… Oh, I don't suppose there's any point in dwelling on it." She leaned in and kissed her cheek, her eyes sorrowful and suddenly tired. "I should get back to Landra. Go and find your brother."

Fergus was in the training yard while the soldiers of Highever gathered in preparation for their departure. Beside him was his wife Oriana, looking pale and unhappy as she gazed around the yard in distaste, clutching their son Oren close to her as though she was afraid he would somehow be whisked away to war, too. Oren was only six, wide-eyed at the sight of the tall, loud men with their swords and horses, caught up in the scene with all the fascination of a little boy seeing war for the first time and thinking it was glory and heroes instead of death and sorrow.

Yet Fergus was smiling as always, his hand running through his wife's hair, and as Elissa approached, she could hear him assuring her, "I'll be back before you know it, love. Cailan has called every available man to his side. These darkspawn will be driven back into their holes before I even get a chance to fight, I swear it."

Oriana was not convinced, chewing nervously at her full bottom lip. "I wish I could be so certain," she said in her soft, rolling accent. "My heart is… disquiet."

"My brother can handle himself," Elissa chided with only a hint of reprimand. She had never really liked Oriana and her prissy ways, or her constant disparagement of how Antiva was superior to Ferelden in beauty and culture, but she was Fergus' wife, and so Elissa had always managed to hold her tongue. Even as a grown woman, no two men in the world could live up to Fergus and Bryce in Elissa's mind. Both were quick to laugh and just as quick to anger, soft spoken and caring in peace and utterly ruthless in war. Even when they were children and Fergus would tease her to tears, he would also scour the grounds to bring her the spring's first violets, and bloodied the nose of any bullying lordling who dared to pick on his little sister. She doubted she would believe that any woman was good enough for him.

"He is as mortal as anyone, despite what either of you believe," Oriana snapped at her, glaring at her through red-rimmed eyes.

"Now, love, no need to be so grim," Fergus joked, but his gaze darted to Oren, and there was a warning there. Oriana looked abashed and silenced her fears at the look, but her hold on her son only tightened.

Fergus turned to Elissa, though his fingers continued to tease the end of Oriana's braids, soothing. "Have you come to see me off, then?"

"That, and to bring you a message. Father says you're to ride without him."

He froze for a moment before frowning darkly. "So Howe's men _are_ delayed. You would think they were all walking _backwards_." He heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "I suppose I'd best get underway, then. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time."

Elissa smiled as he scooped up his son and hugged him, promising to bring him back a sword of his own on his return. She pointedly looked elsewhere when he said goodbye to his wife.

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us," Oriana murmured, clinging to him.

"Have him bring us some ale and wenches while he's at it. For the men, of course." He only laughed when she hit him. "Come on, Elissa. Walk me to the gate."

Elissa did as he asked, wondering what he couldn't say in front of Oriana. Fergus paused to give the order to his captain to see the men out, and in a cloud of dust and the thunder of hooves, the army of Highever began their slow march out of the gates, headed for Ostagar. Fergus leaned in to speak to her beneath the noise, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

"Listen," he told her, glancing nervously toward his family, "Cailan is no fool, despite what he may seem in person. Watch our borders closely. At the first sign of trouble, you send my family to Denerim. Do you understand?"

"I do," she answered, trying to fight down the rising tide of panic. She'd been left as regent to Highever only once before, and that was during a time of peace. "Maker watch over you, big brother."

He smiled and pulled her into a hug. "And you. Take care of Mother, would you?" He yanked on one of her long braids as he turned to leave, and Elissa yelped and glared at him as he chuckled and cast one last look over his shoulder, his eyes dancing with the mischievous light of their shared youth. Elissa's heart felt heavy and leaden in her chest when he swung into the saddle and rode away, the relevance of that childish gesture sinking into a puddle of dread in her stomach.

Fergus was afraid.


	3. Endless Night

**Chapter Three**

_**Endless Night**_

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_Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of the strong_

_~Author unknown_

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Once upon a time, war was a game.

Elissa was still a young girl when her mother began to insist that she stop rough housing with the boys, and so her recollection of the rules were fuzzy and indistinct, more of an impression of her childhood than a solid memory. There were make-believe armies and a grassy hill to be conquered, and more often than not, the game ended not through the strategies and tactics produced by an eager young mind obsessed with battle, but by an older brother who wasn't above holding her down while she squirmed and yelled until she finally conceded.

Her father never spoke of the Orlesian occupation, and so Elissa would sit in her room and create tales in her mind while she read through her collection of stories, dreaming of dragons and knights and sunlit forests in faraway lands as necessary elements to all that glorious battle should be, regardless of what Ser Gilmore tried to tell her.

As she grew older, if not exactly wiser, the stories took on a darker tone and she began to see the blood splattered across the pages of history.

Yet childhood dreams die hard, crumbling only when the world interferes and buries them in a tide of sorrow and loss, slaying the dragons and burning the forests until naught remains but ashes—sorrowful remnants of what had once been innocence and fairytales where heroes never died.

… …

It was Aiden's barking that woke her.

Elissa was pulled from a sound sleep, muddled and vaguely aware of noises outside her window, more irritated at the dog's restlessness than the obscure sounds drifting up from the courtyard. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

As the lingering mists of her dreams slowly cleared, she realized that Aiden was more than restless. He stood at the door with his feet braced wide, hackles raised along the strong muscles of his back and his teeth bared in a snarl. She quickly blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes and cautiously rose, the first stirrings of fear beginning to raise bumps on her skin.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a low voice, her eyes darting to the trunk that held her weapons in the corner of the room. "Is someone out there?"

The door burst open with a suddenness that drew a scream from her, and Dairren stumbled into her room, clutching his middle. Blood ran over his hands, drenching the front of his tunic, and he collapsed to his knees. "Elissa…" he murmured, his voice fading like the images of her dreams, and then he fell, unable to continue.

She couldn't move; her shock held her captive and refused to let go, but at his low groan something clicked into place and she rushed to his side. His skin was grey and cold, his eyes dimming even as she knelt beside him. "The castle… under attack…"

For a long time, she could only look at him, willing him to speak again, to tell her what to do, but cold dread formed in her middle and slowly crept its way up her spine, and she understood with a silent scream of denial that he was dead. For seconds suspended in eternity, she couldn't move even enough to draw a breath. Aiden's hysterical barking rang in her ears but she couldn't think—dazedly wondered what that _noise_ was and wished it would stop. A scream outside her window startled her out of her staring, and even though she was barely aware of what she was doing, she ran to her trunk and kicked it open, yanking on a pair of breeches under her nightshirt and grabbing her matching swords. She cast on last despairing look at Dairren, but there was nothing she could do for him, and the ghosts of long lectures crowded the room and prompted her to action when her willpower couldn't do it. _Your duty is to protect the people of Highever__._

Aiden bolted out of the room, and in her confused terror she wanted to call him back, to beg him not to leave her alone, but cries outside of her room stopped her from doing so. When she rushed to follow, he was already mauling an armed man while another lifted a crossbow and took aim.

It was instinct instead of conscious thought that carried her across the floor, running at the stranger. In his surprise, he didn't have a chance to defend himself. One of her blades sank into the soft flesh of his belly while the other slashed at his neck, the way Ser Gilmore taught her, and without a sound he crumpled at her feet.

Her blades were darkened with blood in the pale moonlight instead of shiny and clean like they had always remained in her practice sessions, and she stumbled back to lean against the wall, fighting the urge to retch.

"Elissa!"

In her daze, it took her a moment to remember that Elissa was _her_ name, and she looked up, bleary-eyed, to see her mother rushing towards her. Eleanor was wearing a chain shirt with her bow hung over her shoulder. The sight of someone recognizable and comforting was enough that Elissa was jerked back into reality, her shock giving way to cold, shaking fear. "Mama! What—?"

Eleanor didn't give her the chance to ask, throwing her arms around her and holding her so tightly it was difficult to breathe. "You're all right, thank the Maker! I heard screaming, and I feared…" She shook her head, the determination of a warrior settling in her eyes.

Something went through Elissa at the sight, awakening an instinct she didn't know she possessed. She forced herself to stop shaking, to think. "Mother, how did they get in?"

"They're Howe's men," her mother said, her eyes grim. "I saw their shields."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, for the fear to vanish beneath a wave of rage unlike anything she had ever known. "He was stalling."

Eleanor nodded. "He knew we would be left without a fortguard. Elissa, we have to get out of here. Have you seen your father?"

"I haven't." She was amazed by how calm her voice sounded when her mind was spiraling uselessly out of control. Arl Howe had betrayed them. Nothing made sense anymore. "He… he must have stayed in the hall with the arl."

Eleanor's expression went dangerously blank, hardening into a mask. "We have to find him. Come with me. I have an extra chain shirt in my room, and you're not going anywhere unprotected."

Elissa obeyed automatically, more than willing to hand control over to someone else, to follow instructions. The shirt was heavier than she was accustomed to, but she slipped it over her head anyway. She had a purpose now—a clear path before her. With the thought came a screaming warning in her mind, and she turned to her mother with wide eyes. "Mother, Oriana and Oren—they're in Fergus' room."

"We'll see to them first, then. Hurry! We don't have much time." Together, they ran down the hall towards her brother's chamber. Something dark and crawling twisted at Elissa's skin when she saw the door to the chamber standing ajar, and the interior dark. Eleanor stopped in her tracks at the sight, fear of what awaited them freezing her in place, but Elissa moved forward without her, stepping cautiously, dread settling in every pore as she opened the door wide enough to see inside.

The moon provided just enough light to clearly see the horrific scene before her. Fury and nausea fought for dominance within her body, and she had to lean against the door frame for support. Her mother came running after witnessing her reaction. Elissa tried to grab her as she rushed past. "Mama—don't! Don't look!"

A cry like a wail of a wounded animal escaped the teyrna and she fell to her knees, sobbing. Elissa was the one to throw her arms around her this time, hot tears running down her own face, but a newfound strength kept her upright as she tried to pull her mother away. "Mama, please—don't stay here."

"What manner of fiends can slaughter such innocence?" Eleanor moaned, too overwhelmed by her grief to pay any heed to Elissa's attempts to move her. "Monsters. Dogs that deserve to be put down like the animals they are! Fergus… my poor Fergus…"

Elissa finally managed to wrestle her mother to her feet and together they stumbled down the hallway, clinging to each other and sobbing. Aiden crowded against Elissa's leg, whining at her despair.

"Father," Elissa choked out, speaking to the dog. "Help me find my father."

With a look of understanding in the too-intelligent eyes, Aiden turned and darted down the hall. Elissa was forced to follow at a run, her mother trailing behind her. There were men bearing the crest of Amaranthine everywhere, but Elissa no longer felt sick as she cut them down, each one a sacrifice to the Dark Ones as vengeance bloomed hot beneath her skin.

Her mind had given up the notion that this was all a nightmare that would end to find her safe in her own bed, but as she ran down the corridors of her home, they seemed alien to her, filled with smoke and soot and the stench of burning. She stopped to catch her breath, the tightness in her lungs causing her head to swim. Her mother caught up quickly, clutching her side.

"Elissa," she said, and her voice had taken on a calm that frightened her. "If we cannot find your father, you must escape. Take the passage in the servants' corridors and travel to Ostagar. Find your brother."

Elissa refused to believe what she was hearing, shaking her head in vehement denial. "We'll find him."

"Howe's men are already inside. They control the castle. What men we had were likely cut down before we even woke. You will leave as soon as you have the chance and tell Fergus what has happened here. Without you two, the Cousland line ends."

"I won't! I want Arl Howe dead!"

Eleanor roughly grabbed her shoulder and slammed her back against the wall, hard enough that it knocked the wind from her. The teyrna's eyes burned with a hatred Elissa knew was reflected in her own. "Then you must _live_, and visit vengeance upon him."

… …

"Go! Man the gates! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

The sound of the familiar voice over the chaos and thundering rhythm of a ram at the gates caused Elissa to pause, and though Aiden tugged at her sleeve, trying to urge her elsewhere, she shook the dog off and ran to the great hall. Ser Gilmore and the last of Highever's soldiers were braced against the main gate, fighting to keep the remainder of Howe's forces at bay.

"Where's my father?" Elissa asked Ser Gilmore before swallowing hard, trying to rid her voice of the high note of hysteria.

For a moment, he only blinked like he was afraid she'd disappear. "My lady! Your ladyship! You're alive!" He seemed to sag in relief and nearly reached out to them, but remembered himself at the last moment and snatched his arms back. "I thought for certain you were lost!"

"How did this happen?" Eleanor asked. Her control made Elissa ashamed of her own raging fear.

"Arl Howe's men were brought into the castle late tonight, my lady," Gilmore said. "Claiming to have just arrived for the muster. They attacked once the castle was asleep. We didn't stand a chance against them." Pushed beyond any care about deference of rank, he turned away from the teyrna and grabbed Elissa by the elbow, herding her back toward the only exit. "Your father went to the larder in search of you. The servants' exit hasn't yet been discovered. Take your mother and make straight for it. I'll hold the hall as long as I can."

Elissa began to argue, to scream that all these years of training and fighting were worthless if she couldn't even defend her own home, but the look in his eyes silenced her and lodged the words in her throat.

_He's going to die_.

The realization was the blow that would break her at last, she was sure, horror pounding at her will just as relentlessly as the ram pounded at the gates. She felt like a wire being stretched between a jeweler's tools, pulled until she was as delicate as a strand of hair.

_He's going to die to let us escape_.

"My lady," he prompted, giving her a little shake. "My lady, we don't have much time."

The wire snapped.

She threw her arms around him, her voice abandoning her as the silent sobs tried to suffocate her. He hugged her back fiercely before pushing her away, his hands on her shoulders to keep her at a distance and his heart in his eyes. "_Run_, Elissa. Don't look back."

… …

The larder was dark and seemingly empty, but Aiden bounded inside regardless. Just as Elissa had the furious thought that if he'd led them there in search of food she'd skin him, she heard the soft wheeze of labored breath come from somewhere in the darkness. "There you both are. Maker be praised."

She could see him then, lying in a corner, propped up on one elbow while the other arm clutched his chest. Elissa ran to her father's side, her mother right behind her. Eleanor was breathless as she fell to her knees beside her husband, her voice quivering for the first time in all that horrible night. "Maker's blood, what's happening? You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men… found me first. Almost… did me in right there."

Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and now Elissa could see the dark pool that her father was lying in, rapidly spreading across the stone floor, and couldn't seem to tear her eyes away.

"Bryce!" Eleanor had also seen the blood. Her hands were frantic as she clutched at him, almost as though she wanted to force him to his feet. "We must get you out of here!"

The teyrn looked at her sadly, resignation settling in the lines of his face. He had never looked older. "I won't survive the standing, I think," he said softly, pain flashing across his features when Eleanor's breath hitched in her throat. His gaze fell on Elissa and grew suddenly determined. "Someone must reach Fergus."

Elissa understood what he was saying, but this was one thing that she could not—_would_ not—accept, despite whatever her parents might have argued. "You can tell him yourself, Father. Please." Her voice sounded childish, even to her, and she couldn't stop the flood of tears that were blinding her, stealing him from her sight.

"Bryce, no!" Eleanor said. "The servant's passage is right here! We can flee together—find you healing magic!"

"The castle is surrounded, my love. I cannot make it."

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct."

At the unfamiliar voice, Elissa was on her feet with her swords in hand before she fully comprehended what she was doing. It was the Grey Warden, emerging from the shadows with his armor stained by blood and his blade dark with it, though he appeared unharmed.

"Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle," he said calmly, apparently unaffected by the gruesome scene before him. "Getting past them will be difficult."

"Duncan, I beg you…" Bryce struggled to look up at the Warden, and the dark pool beneath him spread further into the cracks. Duncan quickly knelt down to spare him the effort. "Please. Take my wife and daughter to safety."

The dark voice was strangely gentle. "I will, your lordship." Duncan hesitated, and Elissa's mind raced with demands for him to save her father, to refuse to leave him behind, but before she could voice any of them, the Warden was speaking again. "But… I fear I must ask something in return."

Fury and disgust burned through her, that he would dare to make demands, but Bryce answered immediately. "Anything."

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose on the world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

Elissa couldn't believe that he was thinking about that now—_now_, when her entire life was blowing away like ashes on the wind, but her father was looking at her gravely, and his resignation deepened. "I understand."

The world lurched and spun and she wanted to scream and keep on screaming until the skies burned and the Maker appeared, but her father reached out and grasped her wrist, demanding her silence. "Elissa," he said, his voice strong and sure and it was an _order_. "You are a _Cousland_."

She could only nod, sure if she tried to speak, her voice would break and she'd never be able to retrieve it.

"Bryce, are you sure?" Eleanor asked, quiet and small, her fingers gently running through his hair as if they were in a sunlit garden and not a dark hole, waiting for death to emerge from the shadows and claim them all.

He nodded, the truth more than the small action seeming to drain him, stealing what strength he had left. "Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery," he whispered. "I would rather give her to Ferelden."

Eleanor considered, and when Elissa saw her jaw set and her eyes harden, she _knew_. She leapt forward, but Duncan grabbed her arms, holding her back.

"Darling, go with Duncan," her mother instructed calmly over her cry of protest. "You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Eleanor!"

"Hush, Bryce." Her mother's hands did not shake as she drew an arrow and fit it to the string of her bow. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time, but I won't abandon you."

"No!" Elissa was screeching but she didn't care, and the cursed Grey Warden wouldn't let her go. She struggled against his hold, but his hands were like iron, bruising her arms but not relenting. "No! You can't send me!"

Eleanor shook her head. "So we all die? No. Your place is with the Grey Wardens now. Mine is with your father." Eleanor got to her feet as Duncan dragged Elissa to hers, and her mother reached up to wipe the tears from her daughter's face one last time. "Oh, my love, I'm so sorry. But you don't truly need me anymore, and I promised to be by his side, to death and beyond. Someday you'll understand." She leaned forward and kissed Elissa's forehead despite her struggling and screaming. "Duncan, please."

Elissa was being dragged, pulled into the passage that would lead out of the castle no matter how hard she fought, while Aiden ignored her continued demands that he help her as he trotted by her side, his head hanging. Her last sight of her parents was her mother kneeling down on the cold stone and her father laying his head in her lap, clutching her close while the blood spread over her meticulously embroidered skirts.

The small corridor closed in around her and she couldn't breathe; her vision danced red until she thought she'd faint, but Duncan dragged her on without mercy. "We dare not stop."

It wasn't until the cellar door swung open and he hefted her out of the hold into the cool of the night that she realized she was sobbing, shaking with the force of her rage and grief until she feared she would shatter into a thousand pieces like shards of glass, broken and irreparable. Duncan was not gentle when he grabbed her and covered her mouth with a calloused hand, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You must be strong, my lady," he ordered in his deep, calm voice. "Do not dishonor their sacrifice."

She felt empty, spent and wrung out. As the sobbing ebbed, she regained control of herself, but it was a dark control, devoid of strength or hope.

… …

She could still smell the blood.

Blood that had pooled beneath the bodies, burning its sickly sweet stench into her hair, her clothes, her mind. Blood that had dripped from her blades and ran down her arms as she cut down those who stood in the way of their escape. Blood that had soaked Aiden's muzzle as he ripped and tore and dismembered.

Her life—her world of love and laughter—was gone, swallowed up by shadows of violence and betrayal.

"We reach Ostagar on the morrow, my lady."

Elissa didn't look up or acknowledge his presence in any way except to whisper softly, "Please don't call me that."

From across the campfire, his eyes met hers in sympathy, though nothing of pity was expressed on the impassive face. "As you wish."

Beside her, Aiden whined and nudged her knee with his nose. She patted his head with numb fingers, making the concern in the canine eyes increase. Elissa had undergone the length of the journey in a daze, still lost in her waking nightmare. She left some vital part of herself behind in that cellar, she knew. Left it there to die with her parents, to lie in darkness that would never lift.


	4. Awakening

**Chapter Four**

_**Awakening**_

.

_I prefer you to make mistakes in kindness than work miracles in unkindness._

_~ Mother Theresa_

.

.

Ostagar brought a stir of familiarity with it. Elissa began to feel a vestige of the stranger she had been a matter of days before, ushering her back to her surroundings. The sounds of men and dogs and shouted orders were nearly overwhelming after her self-imposed silence. She felt muddled, like a dreamer forcefully pulled from sleep. The sight was achingly familiar in its similarities to the final days at Highever Castle as the army was preparing itself for war. The grief she had nurtured into a secure numbness rose up and tried to choke her.

She curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking and forced herself to listen to Duncan's explanation of the situation, though it was no easy thing to do. At the sight of the ruins, her mind reached out to Fergus and froze there. It was all she could do to keep from running across the bridge, away from the Warden and his war, and find her brother. She didn't know what she was going to say, or how she was going to tell him what had happened, but she needed him—needed his broad shoulders to help her to carry her sorrow.

"The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands," Duncan said as they walked under the great, crumbling arch that had once been the entrance to the fortress before it had fallen to ruin. "It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within that forest. The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped, here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

"Ho there, Duncan!"

Elissa looked up to see a figure running toward them. It took one bewildered moment for her to recognize Cailan Theirin, the King of Ferelden. He was a young man still, and as handsome as he father was, with pale blond hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to dance with excitement. She had only seen him at a distance on the rare occasions when her father would allow her to accompany him to royal functions in Denerim. In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother's voice nagging at her, whispering that her long ebony braids were matted with dirt from the journey, and that she was wearing trousers and a mail shirt instead of a proper dress upon this first meeting with royalty.

She almost wished she could summon the will to care.

"King Cailan." Duncan sounded surprised but immediately bowed in greeting. After a moment Elissa followed suit. "I was not expecting—"

"A royal welcome?" Cailan grinned and clasped Duncan's arm as if he were greeting an old friend. "I was beginning to think you were going to miss all the fun."

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan replied with a tone of long-suffering patience.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" He laughed, and Elissa thought bitterly that in his golden armor he looked very much like an overgrown boy playing soldier. "The other Grey Wardens told me that you found a promising recruit," he continued, his attention falling on Elissa for the first time. "I take it this is she?"

"Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty—"

"No need." Cailan's smile widened as recognition lit his features. "You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've ever actually met."

She bowed her head, but didn't attempt to curtsey in the clothes she had on. "We haven't, Your Majesty. My name is Elissa."

"Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we are still waiting for your father."

Elissa's head jerked up, the casual mention of her father making something inside her seethe with indignation. "You haven't heard."

"News from the north has been … unreliable." The curiosity in his gaze increased as he examined her features, which had suddenly gone cold and tight. Some of the light left his eyes, allowing seriousness to school his expression. "Why? What's happened?"

"Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, Your Majesty," Duncan said quietly, sparing her the task. Cailan's eyes widened in shock, and his guards, silent until this point, swore out loud at the news. "Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

Cailan had begun pacing before Duncan finished, his eyes narrowed in confused anger. "I don't understand. How could he think he would get away with such treachery? Did he truly think I would do nothing when I learned of this?"

"I don't think he intended anyone to bring you the tale, Your Majesty." Elissa couldn't quite keep the dryness from her tone. Another emotion had begun to rise from the ashes of her soul—resentment. She wanted to scream, to rail against him for allowing this to happen to her family while he was off playing hero. The Cousland honor had been ingrained in her far deeper than she had ever realized, however. She managed to hold her tongue when the common sense that ruled her life took control and fought back her irrational reaction. It was madness to blame the king for Howe's betrayal, a man that her father trusted with his life. How could Cailan have known otherwise? The king was a good man, in his own way, naïve to a fault, but genuinely kind. Her father and Fergus had always spoken highly of him.

Cailan crossed his arms over his chest and looked her over again in light of this information, taking in for the first time the sight of her bare arms beneath the heavy mail shirt. She still wore nothing but her sleeveless nightshirt beneath it. His expression hardened. "The Blight must come before this, my lady, but as soon as we are done here, I will turn the whole of my army north and bring Howe to justice. On that, you have my word."

She bowed her head again, and this time the action carried a hint of sincerity. "My humble thanks, Your Majesty."

"No doubt you are longing to see your brother," he said, sounding strangely hesitant. He sighed. "Unfortunately, he and his men are out scouting in the Wilds."

A hot, aching knot formed in her throat. It took a moment before she was sure of her voice again. "When will they return?"

"Not until the battle is over, I fear. Until then, we cannot even send word." He winced apologetically, and Elissa idly wondered what kind of twisted honor that was, to have made a king wince. "I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do. Truly, my lady—if I could I would order Teyrn Cousland back immediately."

At hearing the title that her brother had stood to inherit for so long, she felt the last reserves of her strength drain away. She was thankful when Cailan swiftly changed the subject, apparently eager to be gone and away from her. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

"Your uncle sends his greetings," Duncan said, "and asks me to remind you that Redcliffe's forces could be here in less than a week."

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory." Cailan was smiling again, having no more time or inclination to waste on Elissa's tragedy. "We've already won three battles against these monsters, and the next should be no different."

"I didn't realize things were going so well," Elissa said quietly. She had to focus on something else, anything else, to maintain her control. She refused to fall apart in front of the king and his men.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," Cailan said, sighing. "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Elissa was surprised to hear the dryness in Duncan's tone, but was slightly relieved she wasn't the only one having doubts about the king's priorities.

It seemed to be lost on Cailan, anyway. "I had hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But, I suppose this will have to do. Anyway, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens." Before he took his leave, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "My heart grieves for your loss, my lady. The teyrn and his wife were much loved by the kingdom."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she replied automatically, but her voice barely rose above a whisper, and she was grateful to see him leave.

Duncan looked at her with a small shake of his head. There was apology in his eyes. "What the king says is true," he said slowly. "They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

"Yet you don't sound very reassured."

He lifted a hand, indicating she should precede him as they crossed the bridge. "I know there is an Archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feelings."

"What would you have him do?"

"Wait for reinforcements. We sent a call out west to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but it will be many days before they can join us. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining without delay."

He had said next to nothing of the Joining until now, but then, Elissa hadn't asked. She had little care for whatever new form of torture awaited her, bound as she was by the words of her dying father to join the Grey Wardens. "What do you need me to do?"

"I have to attend to some business with Loghain. There is much to be done before we have what we need for the ritual. There is another Grey Warden in the camp named Alistair. Find him. He will see to the things you need and answer any of your questions."

… …

As she wandered the camp, she began to see for the first time just how removed from the world she had been since the night of the attack. With a chill, she also realized she had no idea how long ago that was. The days and nights of the journey here had passed like faded tapestries in her mind, jumbling together into a long stretch of empty images.

She unconsciously crossed her arms around herself. Thankful as she was for this unexpected awakening, some small part of her was still unwilling to absorb it, as though the bright sun and colored tents were somehow an affront to her grief.

The sun was beating down on her uncomfortably. Elissa stopped to rest beside a stream that ran along the edge of the camp. With some effort, she managed to pull off the too-large mail. Her nightshirt was covered with rusty rings from sweating inside the armor and her arms sported dark bruises, left by Duncan's fingers when he held her back. She began to shake uncontrollably, and for long moments she remained huddled beside the small stream, wondering how her life could have been so thoroughly turned upside down in so short a time. The grim, hollow-cheeked girl who looked back at her from the water's surface was no one that she knew—her eyes were the same color, but hard and cold as ice. She wanted Fergus, needed him to reaffirm that she was here, still flesh and blood—still Elissa Cousland, and not some wandering, nameless ghost that resembled her. Tears sprang and threatened to spill, but she fought them back, weary of shaking and crying and hurt.

Instead, she dipped her hands into the water to wash the worst of the dirt from her face and arms, and then draped the heavy mail over her arm and forced herself to her feet.

By asking around, she was eventually able to locate the Grey Warden called Alistair. She found him at the edge of the ruins, engaged in a heated conversation with a mage from the Circle Tower. Her first thought was that he was quite tall—easily standing a half a head taller than her and more than that over the mage. He also looked impossibly familiar. She half-heartedly tried to recall where she may have met him before, but nothing came to mind, and she didn't care enough to think very hard on it. He was lean in build, but heavily muscled, standing with the casual strength of trained warrior. Other signs testified he'd led a soldier's life—stubble darkened his jaw and chin, unlike the courtly men of her experience, and he wore a well-crafted chain shirt effortlessly, with none of the signs of fatigue she had experienced since leaving Highever. A shield as well as a longsword that looked far more imposing than her slender blades was strapped to his back. His hair was light brown with more than a hint of red to it and kept short, though it had a mussed, finger-combed look in the front, likely a habit of frustration, as he seemed to be suffering from right then.

"What do you want?" the mage demanded nastily, drawing himself up as though preparing for battle. Elissa uncharitably wondered if he knew how truly ridiculous he looked—even with that action he barely reached Alistair's chin. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

"I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage," Alistair replied with deliberate calm. "She desires your presence."

The mage grunted in dislike. "What she 'desires' is no concern to me. We are busy helping the Grey Wardens, not the Chantry—and at the king's orders, I might add."

The Grey Warden crossed his arms and asked in feigned seriousness, "Should I have asked her to write a note?"

The mage blinked once, and then apparently realized he was being mocked in some way. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"Yes," said Alistair, sounding bored. "I was harassing you by delivering a _message_."

The other man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Elissa unconsciously took a small step back, wondering what kind of fool this Warden was to antagonize someone who could scorch him with a thought. "Your glibness does you no credit."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well." Alistair seemed profoundly unconcerned by the caster's anger, simply stepping aside when the mage deliberately bumped him in passing.

"Get out of my way, fool! I will speak to the woman if I must."

Elissa was careful to get out of the caster's path as he stormed past her and out of sight. Alistair blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair again before he seemed to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye. He offered her a wry smile. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is the way it brings people together." He did a double take, clear hazel eyes dropping to her feet and traveling back up to her face. "Wait—I don't know you."

"No," Elissa agreed, somewhat dryly. "Duncan told me to find you."

"Oh… oh! So you're the new recruit, then! I apologize, I should have recognized you."

Elissa didn't ask how he was supposed to have done that, but she uncomfortably wondered how familiar he was with Highever. She had no desire to satisfy the curiosity of everyone in camp with her story.

But Alistair was glancing over to where the mage took his angry leave and seemed to have concerns other than her identity on his mind. "Uh, you wouldn't happen to be another mage, would you?"

"No."

"Oh, good," he said in obvious relief. "It's…" He racked his brain for a moment. "It's Elissa, isn't it?" At her silent nod, he continued with, "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining."

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to that. All of her courtly manners and training seemed to have dissolved over the past few days, wearing her out of the notion of trying to make small talk. Instead, she nodded in the direction the mage had taken. "Did I interrupt something?"

"With the mage?" Alistair didn't seem the least bit phased by her lack of response. "The Circle is here at the request of the king, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit, as you can probably imagine. They just love letting the mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position and earns me an immediate dislike with both sides. I was once a templar, you see."

Elissa stared at him, taking the time to size him up again. "You were a mage hunter?"

He cringed at her choice of words. "Not that that's all that templars _do_, but yes. I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it an insult to send me as her messenger, and the poor man picked right up on that. I would never have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along." His voice dropped to the ironic tone again and he sighed to himself. "Apparently, they didn't get the same speech." He watched her curiously now, seemingly waiting for her to say something.

She wished people would stop assuming she knew what she was doing. "I was told you'd help get me settled?" she asked. "I… wasn't able to bring anything with me."

Rapidly, his eyes took in the bruises on her arms and the nightshirt, but thankfully, he didn't ask her anything, instead saying just a little too brightly, "Right. Follow me."

He lead her through the crowded camp, keeping up a steady stream of chatter despite her silence, occasionally glancing at her strangely, as if he were wondering what she could possibly have done to catch Duncan's attention. She couldn't blame him, since she wasn't sure why she was there, either. She knew she was being less than friendly towards a man who was trying very hard to make her feel welcome, but she also couldn't bring herself to change the fact.

He talked enough for both of them, anyway, readily answering all of her questions and even a few she didn't ask. Until, that is, she asked about the Joining. At that, he put her off with a vague, witty response that brought the subject to a close and in no way answered her question.

She was to discover, in the days to come, that he was very good at that.

… …

"Here," Alistair said later that evening as she picked at a meal she had no appetite for. He set a pair of blankets beside her and sat down without invitation. "It turns out there's no need for me to borrow your dog as an enforcer, after all. I knew I could beat the caravan master into submission."

Aiden barked happily, but Alistair's attempt at humor fell flat—Elissa didn't answer.

He was unlike any templar she had ever encountered. She'd seen them on the rare occasions Highever welcomed mages from the Circle. Raised and trained by the Chantry, the templars' only purpose in life was unending vigilance, their lives spent following the handful of mages that were allowed outside of the Circle Tower wherever they ventured. The templars were a magic user's invariable shadow, their slavers and guardians, watching and waiting for a mage to succumb to one of the malevolent spirits that sought them out because of their ties to the Fade. During their times at Highever, the knights never spoke or acted in any way a part of the visit, hovering at the edges of things and watching—always watching. They had frightened her as a child.

Alistair's refined speech and easy manner bespoke familiarity with education and authority both, but there was a light in him the templars of her memories never possessed. Light that was almost painful to eyes growing accustomed to darkness. She shied away from it.

Elissa was not accustomed to being around people who moved with such graceful expertise that she didn't hear them coming, and so could be forgiven when Duncan's voice made her jump. "Alistair." She looked up to see the commander standing over them and scowled to herself. He moved too silently for such a large man, to her thinking. There was something distinctly unnatural about it. "The Joining will have to wait another day. The Wilds are not yet secure enough for you to take the others for the items we need."

Elissa's eyes narrowed in confusion, but Alistair only grinned at the commander. "You mean I can't venture into a darkspawn infested forest just yet with a handful of trainees? How disappointing."

Duncan gave him a stern look that carried a clear warning. "I believe you have other responsibilities to see to. Assuming, of course, that you're done riling up mages?"

He was answered with a careless shrug of one shoulder. "What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

Duncan crouched down in front of them, keeping his voice low enough for only them to hear. "We are not as welcome here as we could be, Alistair. We cannot afford to antagonize anyone."

Alistair wavered under the dark gaze, looking properly abashed. "You're right, of course. I'll apologize, if you like."

With a nod, Duncan rose and departed without another word. Prompted by curiosity, Elissa turned to the other Warden just as he was about to get up. "Why aren't you welcome here?"

He looked startled, and she wondered what the last thing she actually said to him was, or just how long he had endured her silence. He glanced around before answering quietly. "Teyrn Loghain. He's a bit furious that Cailan allowed us involvement at all. He doesn't trust the Grey Wardens."

Elissa was confused, running what lore she knew through her memory. "But, I thought Loghain and King Maric worked with the Grey Wardens."

"At one time, maybe, but it was Maric's idea. How familiar are you with the story?"

The question raised memories of the kind old sage who tutored her, his voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned across the table, telling her stories instead of teaching her numbers like he was instructed.

She didn't want to think about him. "A little."

If Alistair noticed her pause, he gave no indication of it. "The Grey Wardens were banned from Ferelden for a century—that's why there aren't enough of us now. Loghain has never agreed with Maric's decision to allow us back. Something to do with an Orlesian spy in the Order, back then. But, Cailan is fascinated with us, and he has quite a legend to live up to. I can't say I envy him."

That seemed a strange thing for him to say, but she didn't mention it. She had known about the recall of the Order, but, like so many vital facts, the story of the traitor was omitted from her books.

Seeing no further questions forthcoming, Alistair sighed and got to his feet. "I'll leave you to your dinner, then."

She only nodded. After he left, she gave up any hope of trying to force the food down. Instead, she gathered up the blankets he provided her with. She saw something much smaller and thinner folded on top. Curiously, she picked up the bit of cloth, and found it was a linen shirt to replace the nightshirt. She turned quickly to thank him for his thoughtfulness, but he was already gone.

… …

She had wandered away from camp right after the evening meal, and once again, she had barely eaten. Duncan had warned him to keep his distance, to let her work this out on her own. He was trying—really. But as he lay in his bedroll, he couldn't erase the images of those eyes. Never had he seen such expressive eyes, or the haunted look they carried.

Elissa obviously wasn't working things out on her own, anyway. Yesterday she couldn't have said more than ten words to him, though she spent most of the day in his company.

He wasn't sure he got even that much out of her today.

Alistair was tired—very tired—but sleep continued to elude him. Finally, with a curse for the follies of men who couldn't tell when weren't wanted, he got up to look for her.

She was easy enough to find by asking around. Elissa had managed to pique the curiosity of nearly everyone she had crossed paths with, this strange girl who appeared with nothing more than the mismatched clothes on her back.

He finally found her on the edge of the ruins, on a circular patio that overlooked the mountains in the distance. Her back was turned to him, revealing the two tidy braids of ebony hair that hung down her back. She was unarmored, but her weapons were with her, and he didn't doubt she knew how to use the slender blades that rested on either hip. Duncan didn't recruit just anyone.

"You certainly aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

She whirled around, her eyes wide in surprise. _Drat_. He hadn't meant to startle her. He could only assume she was thinking very hard about something not to have heard him, anyway. _Stealthy_ was not exactly the first word people used to describe him.

"I'm not," she answered quietly, and then promptly turned her back on him.

Alistair looked around helplessly, unsure if he was welcome or not. The valley had claimed the land that once surrounded this place, leaving the edges of stone hovering over a dizzying, nearly sheer drop.

She wasn't _really_ going to make him go out there, was she?

He lingered in the shadows for a moment longer before sighing in resignation and stepping out onto the circle. A low growl stopped him in his tracks.

He had forgotten about the dog.

She placed a hand on the huge mabari's head, quieting him. The animal looked at him for a moment longer, then closed its eyes and rests its head back in her lap.

It was as much of an invitation as he was going to get, he supposed.

When he reached her, he dared a peek over the ledge, and then hastily retreated a step. "Well. The view here is certainly… bracing."

"Try not to look down."

"Now you tell me."

Once again, she didn't answer. He hoped she realized she was making this whole conversation business really difficult. Swallowing another sigh, he sat down beside her, careful to keep his distance. "I was wondering where you had gotten off to."

Silence. He was beginning to regret leaving his warm bedroll. "I have a duty to watch morale, you know. Not yours, so much, but Cailan's. He cries easily."

She finally made a noise, barely more than a sharp exhalation of breath, but it could almost pass as a laugh. She finally looked at him, a ghost of a smile tugging at her full lips. "I'm sorry. I just needed to get away from the noise for a little while."

"It's dangerous out here alone."

At that, the mabari lifted its head with an offended growl.

"Not to disparage your company," he amended quickly. "But I was thinking more in terms of a group. Safety in numbers and all that."

Her smile widened slightly into a closer version of the real thing. "The only way to get here is through the camp."

"Yes… well… good point." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, not exactly sure how to proceed now that he finally seemed to have her talking. "Still, it never hurts to be cautious. So I was just wondering—did you want to talk?" _Dammit_, he hadn't meant to just blurt it out like that. He saw her spine stiffen, and he made a mental note not to try to speak to her again. _Ever_. "I'm sorry—stupid of me."

"No, I'm sorry." Her expression softened for the first time since he'd met her, and her eyes wandered cautiously over him, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. "I appreciate your concern. Really. I just… can't. Not yet, anyway."

He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. There. That hadn't been too disastrous. "Fair enough. Just remember the offer stands, if you need to."

She nodded and turned away from him again, but for the first time, he wasn't given the impression he was being dismissed. He wished he could take advantage of it and maybe get another smile from her, but the day was beginning to catch up with him. He leaned back on one hand, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.

She saw it. "I truly didn't mean to worry you," she said. "I didn't realize how late it was."

"You could stand some rest, I'd imagine."

She idly kicked her feet that were hanging out over the stone. He cringed at the false bravery allowing her to sit in such a precarious place; the mistaken impression of courage to disguise the morbid reality of simply not caring.

"It's not so easy here," she said as he fought back the urge to yank her away from the edge. "Isn't it ever quiet?"

"You get used to it, after a bit. Sometimes when you're very lucky, you can even get a solid ten minutes of sleep in between catastrophes."

He earned a real laugh that time, a pleasantly husky chuckle that surprised him. "I'll take your word for that."

Her laughter drew a smile from him, just a quick flash of a grin that she didn't see with her back still turned to him. "Huh. Never heard of anyone actually trying that before," he muttered, getting to his feet. "Still, would you mind very much coming back with me? I'll be awake all night with dreams of cliffs and rocks and ungraceful tumbles, otherwise."

He offered his hand to her. She hesitated, and then slowly took it and allowed him to help her up.


	5. Trials

**Chapter Five**

_**Trials**_

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_If you're going through hell, keep going._

_~Winston Churchill_

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.

Elissa had doubts that she would ever get used to the military lifestyle she'd been thrust into.

She had never considered herself to be an idle person, for although her father was one of only two teyrns in the whole of Ferelden and a powerful man, Highever was a teyrnir of quaint ideals and simple expectations—a glorified country dun of horse herders whose existence depended on the farmers and merchants and craftsmen who worked to make the grassy plains a home. Being born of a family that valued hard work and honesty above misplaced self-importance, she was never permitted to give herself the airs she witnessed from other young nobles on rare visits to the far-removed royal court in Denerim. Yet there was comfort there, as well—a certain aloofness in a life that flowed brightly and effortlessly as a lazy summer stream, and kept her separated from the commoners she had prided herself so highly on knowing.

That difference had never been quite as glaring as it had been since her arrival in Ostagar.

Alistair woke her the next morning with the crude but effective method of putting his foot on the small of her back and shoving her over in her sleep. For one confused moment, she nearly _demanded_ to know what he thought he was doing and ordered him from her presence. Reality slapped her in the face, riding on the cool breeze of the predawn hour, and she caught herself just in time, hissing at her offended and, fortunately, tethered mabari to hush. Alistair was no recalcitrant servitor, but a Grey Warden who outranked her in the new and foreign hierarchy that now defined who she was. She lifted her head and blearily looked up at him, her eyes stinging with exhaustion. It took a bit of rubbing before he came into focus. He stood over her with his arms crossed, grim and silent, already fully armed even though it was still dark out and, _Maker's breath_, had he always been that tall?

"Up," he ordered, his demeanor far removed from what she had witnessed up until this point. She thought she could detect an underlying hint of dread in his gaze. "I need to talk to all three of you."

She had already learned from him that there were two other potential recruits in camp, though she had yet to meet them. Alistair nodded towards the dying fire just to the other side of a hastily crafted wooden fence that separated the two camps. "Over there."

She swallowed what promised to be a curse at being expected to think at this hour of the morning, but did as he said, taking only a moment to put on her boots before stumbling across the camp behind him with Aiden trotting protectively at her heels. Though Elissa was certainly not the only woman with the army, she was the only one with the Wardens, and as such was given a place at the edge of the healer's camp. It allowed her to sleep surrounded by women while remaining available to Duncan and Alistair, who had permission to enter the area.

The air was cold, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had thought to put on her cloak. But, Alistair was moving quickly and purposefully, and she didn't think it was the best time to ask him to let her run back and get it.

She stood a little to the side and yawned widely, abstractly curious about these two men she would soon be expected to call brothers, while Alistair kicked awake the slumbering forms beside the campfire. Daveth was the first to rise, grumbling to himself as he sat up—another not-so-early riser, it seemed—and pushed his fingers through his jet-black hair before dropping his arm to rest on his bent knee. He was on the lean side and swarthy, with clean, regular features that could almost be considered handsome, though not like Alistair. Elissa noted with interest Daveth's soft, long-fingered hands and dark, watchful eyes. When he reached up to rub the back of his neck, she caught a flash of metal from a hidden sheath on his wrist, and nodded to herself in confirmation of her suspicions.

She was familiar enough with the practices of a rogue to know a professional when she saw one.

Ser Jory was less interesting, a bland sort with a kind face dominated by wide, child-like brown eyes and a receding hairline. She took in his large frame and heavy arms and instantly wrote him off as a typical fighter, though undoubtedly a skilled one to have earned a place here.

"Duncan wants to see you three by the bonfire in the center of camp," Alistair said once the other two were awake. "Be there and ready to travel within the hour."

Ser Jory started at that, his domed forehead creasing in concern. He and Daveth exchanged a glance. "Is it true we venture into the Wilds for this test?"

Alistair didn't respond at first, but Elissa saw his eyes darken before he bent down to scoop up a pack and toss it at Jory's feet. "We travel light and fully armed." He turned and left.

Daveth yawned. "Well, it seems something's got our watchdog in a state. Doesn't bode well, I say. I was beginning to think he was unflappable, that one." He turned his curious gaze on Elissa, eying her with a degree of trepidation. Elissa abruptly realized she was the newcomer here. She hadn't bothered to even speak to these two men, while they'd had weeks to get acquainted, waiting for Duncan to return with her from Highever.

She was still getting tired of being stared at.

"Well," Daveth finally said, openly appraising. "You're not what I expected."

"And what were you expecting?" She was immediately suspicious and uncomfortable beneath his gaze, which teetered somewhere near a leer.

"Not a woman."

"Indeed," Jory said, sounding less appraising and more skeptical. "I did not realize the Grey Wardens accepted women into their ranks." Aiden growled deep in his throat at the tone, but Elissa quickly put a hand on his head to silence him. The two men both inadvertently backed up a few steps anyway, she saw with some satisfaction.

"What do you know about this Joining?" Daveth asked, apparently deciding it would be more prudent to change the subject.

"Nothing. Why?"

He shrugged and broke off his unsettling scrutiny. "You're the one who's been in the company of Junior for the past few days, love. I figured he might have told you something. They've all been tight-lipped around us."

She pursed her lips, fairly certain she didn't want to know why such an obvious womanizer would assume Alistair would tell her something he was keeping from the rest of them. "He hasn't said anything."

Daveth rubbed his chin, considering. "I don't like it. All this secrecy—it makes my nose twitch. You'd think they'd at least let us know what we're in for."

She shrugged, a little startled by her genuine lack of concern. The fire of her grief had dimmed to a smoldering ache, leaving nothing but numbness in its place, and she embraced the absence of sensation. She was nothing more than a tool for the Wardens now.

"Well, you're a haughty one, aren't you?" Daveth's eyes narrowed on her despite his smile. "With a rich accent, as well, though I can't quite place it…"

"Highever," Jory said, gaining interest as he took a moment to study her again. "I hail from there myself."

Elissa suddenly had a pressing desire to be elsewhere. "He said within the hour," she said quietly before turning and heading back to her own section of the camp, aware of their eyes following her the entire way.

… …

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Elissa joined the others beside the bonfire, secretly grateful to see that she was not the last one there. Duncan nodded to her once in greeting but said nothing, waiting for Daveth.

Alistair was glaring at Aiden. He had earlier made the mistake of suggesting, in passing, that the mabari stay behind for this particular excursion. Luckily, he was quick enough to snatch his arm back from Aiden's opinion of that suggestion.

He noticed her watching him and shook his head, turning away. A little twinge of guilt went through her. She was sure he was quickly losing patience both with her and her overly protective dog.

The new morning was crisp and cold, and she huddled in her simple cloak, given to her by Duncan as they traveled to Ostagar. She had never in her life been dependent on others for basic necessities, and though it burned the edges of her pride, the thought of her mother's reaction to her sullen behavior towards them ached far worse.

Daveth finally ran up, armored in leather with a bow slung over his shoulder, completely unconcerned that he was late. He offered her a smile and sat down on the log beside her. "Dual wielder, are you?" he asked, gesturing at the weapons hanging from her hips.

Startled, Elissa nodded.

He tilted his head, considering her. "Too risky a style for my liking. I'd much rather fill a chap with holes _before_ he's in swinging range." He eagerly rubbed his hands together. "So what are we doing, then?"

"Waiting for you," Alistair muttered beneath his breath, but Duncan's voice cut across his.

"I'll assume we're ready to begin preparations. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood—one for each recruit."

Elissa wasn't the only one unnerved by that; Ser Jory's eyebrows drew together in confusion and Daveth looked faintly ill. Apparently none of them had been expected to be thrown at the enemy so quickly.

"Well, then, I suppose we'll be seeing a bit of action after all," Daveth said weakly.

"Without a doubt," Duncan replied with a ghost of a smile. "Darkspawn are not renowned for their willingness to offer up their blood."

The comment did nothing to alleviate her growing apprehension. "What's the second task?"

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls may have been left behind, magically sealed in a chest to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"We'll find them," Alistair said with far more confidence than Elissa felt.

Duncan grew abruptly solemn. "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely."

Alistair bowed his head in obedience.

Duncan gave him a satisfied nod. "Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you all when you return." He walked away without another word.

Elissa didn't see Daveth scooting closer to her until his hand was on her knee. She was too shocked to react at first, giving him the chance to lean in and whisper, "Don't worry now, love—we'll be sure to keep you safe out there."

She skittered out from beneath his touch, seething, and grabbed Aiden's collar before he tore the man limb from limb.

Daveth only gave her a grin that reminded Elissa of a cat on the prowl. "Just offering a bit of reassurance, my lovely. The way I've got it figured, we're the same sort, you and I, and now we're in the brotherhood of the Grey Wardens as well. We're practically family. Plenty of time to get to know each other."

The words were enough to spark memory and part of her soul cried triumphantly, "_There you are, Elissa_!" just before she pulled back and let her fist fly. The punch toppled Daveth from his perch and dropped him in the dirt.

"Well then, _brother_," she said as he sat up, gingerly fingering his jaw, "why don't we begin with you keeping your blasted hands off my leg?" She stalked toward the gate, leaving Ser Jory looking scandalized and Alistair doubled over with laughter behind her.

… …

"So, I'm curious."

Elissa looked up at Alistair from where she knelt beside one of the few clear pools of water in this wretched swamp, refilling her waterskin. It was on the tip of her tongue to inform him he was more than just curious—he'd been a fountain of questions since the previous evening, encouraged by her new willingness to respond. She seemed to have rediscovered her manners, however, and held the sarcasm in check. "What about?"

"Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

She shook her head, fitting the lid back onto the skin. "No. Have you?"

"I have. This trial of collecting vials of darkspawn blood is given to all recruits before their Joining." He crouched down so that he was eye-level with her and seemed to be sizing her up, as if it had just occurred to him to wonder about her courage. "When I faced my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing them again."

She tightened the cap and got to her feet, frowning. "I'm not going to suddenly turn squeamish on you, if that's what you're worried about."

"Not at all," he said with an easy grin she didn't believe for an instant. "Consider it a disclaimer."

"And did you offer Ser Jory and Daveth the same 'disclaimer?'"

He seemed to find that funny, shaking his head with a muttered chuckle. "Well, well, aren't we touchy? In my defense, Daveth survived on the streets of Denerim as a cutpurse for a number of years, and I can assure you, that's no easy boast to make. Ser Jory is a knight. You're the only one who's been untested."

The reminder of the only fight she'd ever been in was still too fresh in her mind. Before she could consider the logic of his argument, her voice was coming out in a snarl. "I've been _tested_ well enough."

That wiped the smile off his face, but rather than becoming angry, his eyes lightened with sympathy, making her feel dark and twisted inside. She wished he would just go away. "I'm aware of your… circumstances." She had suspected as much, but hearing it didn't help. She didn't want his pity. "Trust me, Elissa—I've no doubt that you're capable enough, but it still doesn't change the fact that you're the least seasoned fighter here. And since this group is under my charge, your lack of experience is very much my business."

She supposed she should be grateful he was being up front about it, instead of forcing her to endure subtly dropped insults like she had from Jory. "I may not have seen much fighting, but I've been training since I was nine," she said with reluctance. He blinked in surprise. "I'm well aware they aren't the same thing, but you needn't hover. I have _some_ idea of what I'm doing."

"All the same, stay close to me." He grinned again at her audible sigh.

As it turned out, she wasn't as prepared as she would have liked.

They had traveled a good distance into the Wilds before she heard the low growl and stopped in her tracks. A ridge of hair rose along Aiden's back and he planted his feet, snarling. Alistair wasted no time in drawing his weapon and yelling a warning to the two trailing behind them. "Darkspawn!"

Creatures that must have crawled from the depths of the Black City itself were suddenly surrounding them, putrid beasts with grey skin and sharp, blackened teeth. They were not the mindless beasts of her imaginings, but beings clad in filthy armor and heavily armed, reeking of old blood and death. Nearly frozen in horror, Elissa barely managed to dodge when they charged the small party, guttural screams rising up like a poisoned chorus. Sheer disgust prodded her to attack, her heart pounding and her blood pulsing. Ser Jory was swinging wildly, and soon Elissa was forced to dive out of the way, the point of the enormous blade nearly clipping her arm. The warrior was panicking at the sight of the foul monsters. She quickly maneuvered herself out of the range of his greatsword, heatedly thinking that he was going to kill them all if he didn't pull himself together.

A blow to her face was enough to send her stumbling back, dazed, just before the darkspawn who scored the hit went down under a small mountain of fur and teeth. She barely had a second to raise her swords and parry an attack coming in from the left. The fight was more of a shoving match than a real battle, and the four of them were severely outnumbered. Elissa caught Alistair's eye over the chaos and jerked her head in the direction of the trees. He understood immediately, yanking his sword out of one darkspawn and slamming his shield into the face of another before he dropped back into the thick of the woods. The darkspawn were forced to narrow their attack, giving Alistair and Elissa the advantage. Daveth was quick to see the strategy and fought his way free of the horde, gracefully leaping up on a large rock behind Elissa where he could get a clear shot with his bow. A sharp whistle and a signal towards Daveth, and Aiden obeyed, tackling monster after monster while Daveth filled them with arrows.

They won.

It was a little surprising, and for a while, Elissa could only stare at the litter of corpses around them, distractedly bringing up her arm to wipe the blood and sweat from her face with her shirt sleeve. Alistair walked up beside her, breathing heavily but unharmed. "That was quick thinking," he said. His eyes narrowed slightly when he got a better look. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," she said, but she could feel the stinging burn across her cheek and moved to press her hand to the back of it, embarrassed. It wasn't lost on her that she was the only one who didn't escape the battle unscathed.

He snatched her arm, stopping her. "Don't touch it. Darkspawn blood is poisonous. You've got it all over you."

Ser Jory and Daveth looked as if they might be sick, frantically checking themselves for a single drop.

Alistair dropped his pack to search for the small bag of potions and bandages he had brought along. "It's only poisonous if their blood mixes with yours." He made as if to reach for Elissa, but put his hands up in surrender when she abruptly stepped back. "Make sure your hands are clean, then."

She felt another stab of guilt as she ducked her head and made for the stream they'd been following, wondering if she had lost herself so thoroughly that she couldn't stop being cold to the only person who had been nothing but kind to her since reaching Ostagar.

… …

The day dragged on. As the sun began its descent into the horizon, Elissa could barely continue to put one foot in front of the other. She had anticipated this mission Duncan sent them on to be difficult, but the Korcari Wilds were draining her last reserves of strength.

The three vials of darkspawn blood were resting securely in the pouch at Alistair's belt, no one else being all that eager to touch them after his admission of the danger there. They had yet to see any sign of their destination, and scattered encounters with the darkspawn had begun to increase as the night drew nearer. With the coming of the eve, the temperature plummeted, and the wet, cold air revealed every labored breath that escaped their lips in tiny droplets. The misty bog would have provided a challenge on its own after her sheltered upbringing, but the darkspawn plague transformed it into a trial of nightmarish proportions. She was exhausted, wet, and weakening with every step. She felt slightly resentful toward Alistair, who, though admittedly more experienced then she, should have been showing _some_ sign of fatigue.

Perhaps he was just better at hiding it than she was.

Elissa hadn't complained, even when Jory and Daveth became more and more vocal about their desire to leave the Wilds, but it was not for the sake of bravado. She was simply too impossibly weary. With every injury, she was afraid that she demonstrated the glaring mistake Duncan had made in bringing her here. Ser Gilmore—her eyes nearly filled with tears and she had to force them back before her companions noticed—he would have been so much better at this.

Alistair abruptly stopped, glancing around cautiously before breaking the silence that hung over the entire area. "The darkspawn were here." He didn't say how he knew, but there was a look of intense concentration on his face. "Headed… south, now, to rejoin the horde." He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Is that a problem?" Jory's complaints had gotten more waspish as the hours passed.

"It means they got what they came for." Alistair fixed him with a long, level look. "That doesn't bode well for our patrols."

The scene up ahead proved that Alistair's suspicions were correct—the corpses strewn about the site were well armored men who had obviously died fighting. The rank stench of death and blood lingered in the humidity, but Elissa only held her breath against it and began checking for survivors. Any trepidation she might have held about inspecting dead bodies disappeared under the possibility that she would recognize one of them. The others quickly followed suit, but she had no care for the muttered conversation that passed between them as they searched. She was only concerned with alleviating her prevailing fear.

But Fergus was not there.

Relief flooded through her, rejuvenating her flagging strength. She continued her search with more care, checking thoroughly for any signs of life rather than simply taking a quick inventory of their features.

It was not a happy task.

Elissa was about to give up when at last one of the bodies stirred beneath her soft touch. "Who's there?" the wounded soldier asked in a thready voice, looking up at Elissa through bleary, blood shot eyes.

She yelled for Alistair before assuring the man, "Calm down. We're with the Grey Wardens."

"Grey Wardens?"

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair asked brightly, kneeling down to help her examine the man's injuries. Elissa wasn't overly surprised to see the look of disapproval on Jory's face, but she was beginning to understand Alistair's warped sense of humor, ill-timed though it may have been. He was sincerely relieved to find a survivor, as was evident in the careful way he helped the injured soldier to sit up.

"What happened?" Elissa asked, pulling her pack off her back in search of the roll of bandages she had brought along. She handed them to Alistair, who began tying off the worst of the man's wounds.

"My scouting party was attacked by darkspawn. They came out of the ground."

"They do that," Alistair said, his voice pitched low and suddenly very weary. "We can't just leave him here. We're going to have to set up camp."

"Stay? In this swamp?" Ser Jory looked horrified by the idea.

"We're not going to make it back to the ruins before nightfall as it is." Having apparently argued all he was going to, Alistair turned his back on Jory and his protests. "We can stay with you until morning," he told the injured man. "And we'll keep watch. At dawn, you're going to have to make it back to camp on your own."

Elissa was a little shocked that he could be so callous, but the soldier was only grateful. "Thank you, ser."

Alistair caught her expression as he instructed Daveth to see the man comfortable. He sighed, absently running a hand through his hair. "I wish we could take him back, but we have to collect those treaties Duncan sent us to find. Your Joining is too important to hold off any longer." Elissa merely shrugged and turned away, headed to find dry wood for a fire, but Alistair seemed determined to explain himself. "Necessity," he said, falling into step beside her. "As a Grey Warden, you do what you must to stop the Blight." He paused and looked at her. "You'd best get used to that idea quick."

She didn't answer.

Ser Jory was pacing, looking frightened and unhappy. As soon as Daveth had taken the injured soldier out of sight, he wheeled on Alistair. "Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by the darkspawn."

Elissa had to admire the way Alistair serenely washed his hands in the stream. "Calm down, Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful."

The reply seemed to anger Jory, who only grew more agitated, motioning wildly with his hands at the destruction behind them. "Those soldiers were careful and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in this forest!"

"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

Jory's eyes narrowed on Alistair, disbelieving. "How do you know? I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."

Elissa stared at him incredulously. "It's nearly nightfall. Do you want to run into another group like this one in the dark?"

"I've no desire to go seeking my own death for the sake of proving myself!"

Alistair was quick to step in before an argument could flare up between them. Elissa didn't like Ser Jory, and she was beginning to think Alistair knew it, too. "Know this," he said, keeping his tone even, "all Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Daveth said cheerily from behind them, "You see, ser knight? We might die, but we'll be warned about it first." He clapped Jory on the back, grinning at the man's look of outrage. "Best foot forward, I say."

… …

Aiden whimpered lightly as Elissa knelt beside him, looking over the nasty cut along his flank while her three companions argued. Jory was against the idea of keeping watch with Daveth, and while he may have argued that Daveth's fighting style was better suited for a pairing with Elissa and her dog, she suspected that the driving force behind his disapproval was simple fear.

He wanted the Grey Warden with him.

She sighed and dug through her pack for a potion, not caring either way and willing to let them hash it out between them. "It's okay, boy," she said gently to her mabari, drenching a bit of cloth in the foul smelling potion. "We'll have you better in a bit."

He lifted his head and licked her hand in response. She set the cloth on the wound and got up to go fetch a few leaves of the elfroot plant. It was a medicinal she had already noted that grew in abundance in this swamp. She spotted some growing along the side of an ancient, ruined stone wall. With a single sigh for her aching muscles, she grasped the bit of rope she brought along and formed a lasso.

"You're never going to be able to hit that in the dark—" Alistair began, but his words switched to a whistle of approval when the rope sailed cleanly over an outcropping of stone.

"The people of Highever are horse herders," Jory said stiffly, still annoyed. "Had I known that the Grey Wardens were _not_, I might have mentioned as much to Duncan. We were not raised for all this walking."

For once, Elissa had to agree with him. Her body hurt in places she didn't even knew she had, and she again sighed internally at the climb ahead of her.

Daveth jogged over, grinning widely. "Here, love, let me fetch it. I've a bit of experience with scaling walls, you might say."

Elissa was more than happy to hand the rope over. He took it and nimbly began to clamber up, faster and far more sure-footed than she certainly would have been. "The silver leaves," she called. "Collect as many as you can. I'd like to take some with me."

"An herbalist as well," he called back. "You're a gem, you are."

"Do you _want_ to end up hurt again?" Alistair sounded distinctly disgruntled.

Daveth grinned in her direction. "Hurt? What hurt? A dual wielding herbalist with a solid right hook? I may be in love."

She was almost tempted to return the smile he gave her. The other two followed her back to the light of the fire.

"So what's wrong with the mutt?" Alistair asked a moment later, careful to keep on the other side of the fire and well away from Aiden's snapping jaws.

"He's been wounded." She turned to look at him, worry creasing her brow. "Is he susceptible to the poison you spoke of?"

"Not like you are. The mabari have a greater resistance, so we've learned. Still, be sure to keep that covered until it heals."

She nodded and ran a gentle hand down the dog's side, silent until Daveth returned with her herbs.

"You aren't still sulking, are you?" Daveth rolled his eyes at Jory as he handed the precious leaves over to Elissa. "Alistair's right, you know. He can sense these monsters and her eyes are sharper than either of ours, not counting the dog. They're better suited to taking the second watch than we are."

"All the same, were I leading—"

"You're not." Elissa knew it really wasn't her place to make the point, but she was sick of Jory's endless stream of arguments, and couldn't understand why Alistair had allowed them to continue. He was the ranking member here, was he not?

"Go start your watch." Alistair was quick to take advantage of Jory's wide-eyed shock, waiting until he had stormed away to add beneath his breath, "You colossal _prat_."

A giggle burst forth of its own accord. Elissa was quick to stifle it, but Alistair heard it anyway and looked startled by the sound. She was struck all over again by how unfriendly she must have seemed for the past few days. Even though Alistair was a bit of an idiot, he was at least a considerate one. Between fighting off Daveth's advances and Jory's inclination to believe she would only be a hindrance, he was definitely the preferable of the company she had to choose from.

Silence stretched between them before he finally asked, "If I try to help you with that, will I be allowed to keep my hand?"

She smiled at his hesitation. "As long as I'm with you." She scooted over to make room for him to look over Aiden's injury. "You've experience with healing, then?"

"Not in the slightest." He winced at the sight of the cut as though it were worse than he thought. "But I've been with one army or another for most of my life. You pick up things. You're going to have to stitch this." His tone made it clear he wasn't about to attempt anything so risky with the dog.

Aiden whined, trembling, and Elissa put a soothing hand on his neck. "It won't be so bad, you big baby." She searched for the needle and thread in her pack while Alistair cleaned the wound. The question slipped out unbidden, possibly surprising her more than it did him. "You didn't tell Jory and Daveth who I was, did you?"

He turned away to toss the bloodied rag into the fire. "Nope."

Silence. Then, quietly, "Thank you."

He paused for a moment before nodding and getting up, moving back to the other side of the fire to give her room to work. She had a small amount of experience tending wounds, though it had been many years since her minimal training. She was pleased to discover the ability to distance herself remained, enabling her to see the torn flesh as a problem that needed solving. "How far away are we from this outpost Duncan spoke of?"

"A few hours, I think. It's hard to say in this place. Particularly if the other two keep complaining instead of walking. We need those treaties. Those papers are signed documents from the elves, the mages, and the dwarves, agreeing to provide soldiers to assist the Grey Wardens during a Blight. With them, we have an army at our disposal."

"I had no idea the Order had that many resources."

He smiled a little ruefully at that. "That's because so little is known about the Grey Wardens here. There are thousands of Wardens in Orlais and the Free Marches. Fereldans are the only ones who have had to deal with rulers stupid enough to think they can get by without them."

"I suppose you should be grateful for King Cailan's attitude, then. If not for his fascination, the Grey Wardens might not be here at all."

"Yes," he said, and there was something other than sarcasm underlying his tone—there was a whisper of dislike that was hard to miss. "I suppose you can say he's done that, at the very least."

Elissa had been raised to honor her rulers unwaveringly, and so she didn't comment on a statement that was practically bordering on treasonous.

Even if it was a bit of a relief to see she wasn't the only one who didn't think very highly of their current monarch.

She finished tending Aiden by placing some of the elfroot leaves over the stitches and bandaging them in place. "There—see? You're fine."

He licked her hand and let his head flop back to the ground, exhausted. Elissa got up to wash her hands. "You were right," she said to Alistair over her shoulder. "I should have left him at the camp. I can be… stubborn, I suppose. At least that's what I've been told." She kept her eyes down, not looking at him. "You'd better learn to argue with me."

"Far be it for me to get on the foul side of your temper."

Elissa flushed at the reminder of her behavior this morning. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have hit him."

Alistair chuckled. "Of course you should have. Saved me the trouble of waiting until your back was turned to do it myself. Oh, don't get in a huff." He laughed. "Chantry upbringing and all that. They had the audacity to teach me to be a gentleman. Where'd you learn to throw a punch like that, anyway?"

She didn't answer right away, settling down beside the fire where her cloak was spread out. It was going to be a cold night without proper gear, but she was tired enough she doubted if it would make much difference. Alistair's question dredged up thoughts of Highever and her family that were still painful to consider, but he had been the target of her grief since she had arrived, and it was beginning to make her feel like a wretch of a person. "My brother sometimes has trouble knowing when to shut his mouth," she said. "Gilmore, the knight who trained me, thought it was only fair I be able to shut it for him."

"You were trained by a knight? Really?" He smiled as if he found that amusing.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. Well, it's just, the way you fight…"

She shrugged. "You can say it. I know I'm a dirty fighter."

He laughed and lay down, his head pillowed by his arm. She did the same, staring up at the stars that peeked through the canopy of trees. The leaves swayed in the breeze and revealed glimpses of constellations that she recognized. It seemed so odd to see them there, as though all that she had endured should have ushered her into a strange new world where the stars were unknown to her. But this was still Thedas, and somewhere, her brother was looking at the same pinpricks of light, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen him. Her throat tightened, and she wondered for the first time if she would live long enough to tell him, or if the news would be delivered to him by an unfeeling stranger.

"Alistair?" It was the first time she had addressed him by name, and his eyes met hers questioningly. "The Joining… it's dangerous, isn't it?"

He faced the sky again, closing his eyes. "You're very good at asking questions I'm not really supposed to answer, you know."

She didn't reply, measuring the passing of time with the beating of her heart, a simple sign of life she had never really taken the time to appreciate before. The thought struck her through the heart, painful realization swallowing the numbness; she was still alive, and rescued in a sacrifice that was meant to keep her that way. Her parents would have been appalled if they had known how she had longed to join them after what they had endured for her sake.

Alistair sighed and looked out into the darkness—checking to see if the others were within earshot, she guessed. "We do what we have to do," he said quietly. "Without the Grey Wardens, or their narrow-minded determination to do whatever it takes to kill the Archdemon and keep the Order alive, the world would have been swallowed up by the darkspawn long ago."

"I see." There didn't seem to be much else to say to that admission.

"Get some sleep," he said, closing the subject. "Our turn to take watch will come sooner than we want it to, trust me."

One last wondering pierced her mind, something that felt like it had slipped out of place. "You don't really believe all that talk about necessity, do you?"

It wasn't really a question.

He didn't look back at her, but in the dim firelight she could see the wry smile the played at the corners of his mouth. "Let's just say I have a lot of these little lectures memorized, and leave it at that."

If something should happen to her, she decided, she hoped that Alistair would be the one to tell Fergus. Elissa rolled over and closed her eyes, letting the confusion of the world melt away.


	6. Witch of the Wilds

**Chapter Six**

_The Witch of the Wilds_

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_Come away, O human child!  
>To the waters and the wild<br>With a faery hand in hand,  
>For the world's more full of weeping<br>_than you can understand.  
><em>_

_~William Butler Yeats_

.

.

The chest was empty.

Alistair swore and kicked at the ground in frustration. Jory and Daveth glanced at each other, weary and despairing. Elissa brushed the dirt and mold off of her hands, thinking. There was no sign of the scrolls, not even a lump of decayed evidence of their existence. Between the darkspawn apparently avoiding this entire area and the eerie silence of the ruins, the whole thing seemed more than a little strange.

A tingle of magic still existed in the crumbling stone of the ruins, strong enough that Elissa could feel it despite her lack of experience with the Fade or its powers. Alistair was especially uncomfortable, she could tell, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder and frowning to himself. She knew enough of the templars to understand that he could feel the magic more strongly than the rest of them. Every nerve in his body must have been tingling to disrupt the source of it.

The quiet was unnerving, the wildlife having fled the Wilds at the approach of the darkspawn, and unease hung over the small party like a shroud, prickling along spines and making Aiden stamp nervously.

That was why the woman's voice startled Elissa so badly, why Alistair threateningly drew his sword, and why Daveth yelped in surprise.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Elissa whirled around and saw the source of the voice at the top of a crumbling stairway in the ruins, gracefully and purposefully moving towards them. She spared a moment to wonder how the woman got up there, glancing quickly at Aiden. The dog was anxious, trembling beneath her touch, but he seemed unsure of what to make of the woman, either.

She couldn't have been much older than Elissa, tall and lean, with hair that shined like a raven's wing tied in a knot at the back of her head. She was dressed primarily in scraps of leather that made up a skirt and a bit of cloth draped over her breasts—clothing that revealed more than it covered. Her eyes immediately narrowed on the only woman in the group, soft golden irises that shone yellow and predatory in the sunlight.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she asked herself while the rest of them just stared stupidly at her approach. "A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come to these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

Her low, rich voice hummed with a hint of menace, but Elissa was barely paying attention, focusing instead on the staff the woman carried. A magic user. She exchanged a quick glance with Alistair.

"What say you?" The tone turned more biting, sharp with demand. She was still watching Elissa. "Scavenger, or intruder?"

Her companions seemed completely dumbstruck by this turn, so Elissa stepped forward, though she was careful to stay near the templar. "We're neither. This tower belonged to the Grey Wardens. No one informed us of a change in ownership."

The woman laughed, dark and strangely appealing. "My, you do speak your mind quite decisively for one so young. 'Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have taken the land back, as is their right. And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her." Alistair finally recovered enough to speak. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

Her cat-like eyes landed on him and filled with disdain. "Oh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yes." His own eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. "Swooping is _bad_."

"Don't go near her!" Elissa heard a high note of fear in Daveth's voice and glanced at him in apprehension. He backed away from the woman until he ran into Alistair, who shoved him aside but didn't take his eyes off the newcomer. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us all into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds?" The woman seemed amused by the assumption. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You there." Her eyes darted back to Elissa. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Let us be civilized. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Elissa wasn't completely certain what to say, and her companions weren't offering her any help at all. With a shrug, she decided that civil seemed like the preferable of the two options. "My name is Elissa. Whom have I the pleasure of meeting?"

The woman raised an eyebrow and smiled, sly and guarded. "Now, that is a proper greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She stepped nearer, crossing her arms and looking over each of them. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?'" Elissa cringed at the blatant disbelief in Alistair's voice. "You _stole_ them, didn't you? You're some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!"

"How very eloquent." Morrigan was watching them all in narrow-eyed suspicion again. Elissa nearly groaned. "Tell me, how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems," he said dryly. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him coolly, completely unimpressed. "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish. I am not threatened."

Elissa decided it may have been smarter _not_ to let Alistair do the talking, and stepped in front of him when he started to retort, cutting him off. "So who did remove them?"

The two were still staring each other down. It wasn't until Elissa laid a pleading hand on his arm that Alistair broke the gaze, moving back behind her with a huff of frustration.

Morrigan smirked, but turned back to her. "'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Then can you take us to her?"

Alistair stared at her like she'd lost her mind. Elissa could feel her face heat beneath the look, but didn't acknowledge it.

Morrigan considered her a moment longer, her head tilted to the side with a small smile on her full lips. "Now, that is a sensible request. I like you."

"I'd be careful, if I were you." Alistair leaned in over her shoulder to whisper his warning. "One moment its 'I like you,' and then before you know it, _zap_! Frog time."

Elissa leaned a bit closer, speaking in a low voice, careful not to take her eyes of the witch. "And the better idea would be to remain here _provoking_ her?"

She sensed him shrug, as if to say he warned her. Morrigan was still watching them closely, aware of the brief interlude even if she couldn't overhear what was said. "Not all in the Wilds are monsters," she said quietly. The offer of assurance was unexpected enough that Alistair froze. "Flowers grow here as well as toads. Does the nature of wild things automatically equate to evil in your mind?"

Alistair was silent and still, hovering just behind Elissa's shoulder. Finally, he sighed. "Great. She's a thieving, weird-talking, funny sort of witch. Just what we needed to conclude this little adventure."

It was as much of a concession as she was going to get. Elissa was quick to take advantage of it. "Take us to your mother, then."

Morrigan nodded and turned to lead the way, Elissa following close behind

while Daveth and Jory sputtered protests and Alistair hissed at them to shut up.

… …

The hut was little more than twigs and dirt sheltered in a patch of forest so thick that the sunlight struggled to break through the canopy of trees. The feeling of being watched followed them into the small clearing, branches casting elongated shadows that reached out like skeletal hands across the dry leaves that muffled their footsteps. Even the scurrying of squirrels was swollen and intensified, drawing nervous eyes to each skitter.

Jory and Daveth lingered behind, unable to disguise their fright. Alistair remained by her side, but his hand was on the hilt of the dagger in his belt, his knuckles white with tension.

A woman stood beside a fire pit outside, her arms crossed as she watched them approach with the same golden eyes that Morrigan possessed. She didn't appear so much old as she did ancient, withered and bent, but it was her eyes that marked her so keenly. They were sharp, shrewd, possessing a depth of wisdom evident in her gaze.

"Greetings, Mother." Morrigan's mild tone seemed utterly out of place, given the circumstances. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl." The crone studied each of them intently, her attention lingering the longest on Elissa. Her face was cast in shadow by the thickness of the trees, but Elissa did not miss the small smile that crossed her thin, dry lips. "Hmm. Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Unease was making Alistair more sarcastic than usual, bordering on mocking. Without thinking, Elissa stomped on his foot to silence him. He gave a muffled grunt, but kept quiet otherwise, settling for glaring at her. This strange woman seemed to hum with power—magic seeped from her pores and either Alistair didn't feel it, which was unlikely, or he didn't care. Elissa was less certain. She didn't like the idea of provoking her at all.

The witch only looked amused. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide… either way, one's a fool."

Alistair looked highly affronted by this, but managed to keep his mouth shut. Daveth, on the other hand, seemed encouraged by the fact that she didn't blast the Warden with magical fire and began babbling again. "She's a witch, I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!"

To Elissa's surprise, Jory was the one to calm him, grabbing his arm and hauling him back. "Quiet, Daveth! If she is a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

The old woman chuckled, a creaky, rusty sound, as though it were rarely used. "There's a smart lad." She continued to smile, her eyes wandering over Jory's hulking form, and gave a small shrug of one shoulder. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

Her attention was back on Elissa. She felt Alistair shift uncomfortably and inch closer to her, but his precaution was too late. The spell was cast with nothing more than a look in her eyes, sending Elissa spiraling into muddled confusion. She couldn't look away.

"And what of you?" The grating voice seemed to hum through her, digging into some hidden part of her soul for the answer. "Does your woman's mind give you different insight, or do you believe as the others do?"

Elissa heard herself answer without conscious thought. "Believed or not, some things simply are."

The old woman smiled, but there was nothing warm about the gesture. "_There_ is the answer I was looking for." She came forward slowly, gripping Elissa's chin in her hand and looking still deeper. "So much about you is uncertain. Do I believe?" She cackled, her grip tightening until it felt like tiny bird claws grazing Elissa's flesh. "Why, it seems I do."

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

At the sound of Morrigan's voice, the spell shattered. Elissa stumbled back out of Flemeth's reach, shaking and frightened. Alistair reached out and put a hand on her arm, more in reassurance than any attempt to steady her. She was grateful for the simple human contact.

The old woman was moving away toward a chest just outside the hut's rough door. "True. They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

The silence of the woods seemed to have broken with the spell—suddenly, Elissa was standing in an ordinary clearing with a strange old woman and her daughter, the birds chirping overhead in the muted sunlight. Yet her body's trembling was evidence enough that she hadn't imagined the veil of magic surrounding the place, and Alistair still hadn't removed his hand from its protective place on her arm.

"You—" He stopped short and blinked in surprise when the witch handed a bundle of crumbling, yellowed scrolls to Elissa. "Oh. You protected them?"

She shrugged. "And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"What do you mean?"

She began to wave them away. Whatever this meeting was, it was clearly over now. "Either the threat is more, or they have realized less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing. Or perhaps they realize nothing. No matter. You have what you came for."

Morrigan crossed her arms, warning clear in her stance. "Time for you to go."

The old woman raised an eyebrow. "Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests."

"Oh." Morrigan heaved a sigh, but didn't argue. "Follow me, then. I will show you the fastest way out of the wood."


	7. Duncan

**Chapter Seven**

_**Duncan**_

.

_As every thread of gold is valuable,_

_So is every moment of time._

_~ John Mason_

.

.

Duncan could no longer remember how many Joinings he had performed.

They began to run together over the years, different settings and different faces, but too many similarities for him to sort them all out. To his shame, he couldn't remember every face. They floated through his mind against a fog born of regret and deliberate neglect. Should he remember every potential that had knelt before him and lifted the dreaded chalice to their lips, he would have gone mad years before. There were a few, of course, that stood out—men and women who lived long enough to become brothers and sisters and friends. Those were the memories he carried with him, the ones that kept him fighting and recruiting and enabled him, time and again, to prepare for the next Joining.

He remembered the dispassionate eyes of the woman who had stood over him at his own Joining. She had bothered only to learn his name before she handed him the cup. He knew, now, that it had been the same for her…

_ … Signs of summer were beginning to pierce through the spring nights in Orlais. The air was warm, and the heavy sent of flowers and eucalyptus lingered on the breezes from the fabulous, exotic gardens of Val Royeaux. Duncan glanced at the stone and iron of his cell, picking numbly at the buttered bread the guards had provided, and thought that considering the years of thievery and scavenging that had brought him to this time and place, there was something to be said for not dying with an empty stomach._

_ In the morning, he would hang for murder._

_ He was not prepared when Warden Commander Genevieve came to him with her offer. She had no earthly reason to save him. Still, she pressed him to take the chance to redeem himself. But the image of the Warden he had killed thanking him as his life trickled away was forever burned into his young mind. He turned the offer down, thinking it would be better to die now, on his own terms._

_ She hadn't really been asking._

_ He had taken one of her Wardens from her, and now he would replace him. It was as simple as that. Duncan was dragged from the warm comfort of his peaceful acceptance and given over against his will, and all too soon he was on his knees before her. She stood over him with the chalice, her voice brittle as dried leaves as she recited the words that he had paid little heed to at the time, but since then had been carved into his heart and soul and defined who he was._

_ When he woke, she was crouched down beside him, her eyes shuttered against all emotion and her voice flat. "You survived."_

_ He felt the poison, the thick darkness crawling in his veins and he thought that no, no he hadn't…_

…He was drawn from the long-buried thoughts by the sound of the gates creaking open, and a whisper of relief flitted through him when he saw the four returning from the Wilds. Though young, Alistair had proven himself to be reliable and resourceful in his short time with the Wardens.

"You returned," he said when they reached his fire. "Were you successful?"

With a satisfied grin, Alistair handed over scrolls and vials of darkspawn blood.

Duncan nodded his approval. "Excellent."

"We should tell him about Morrigan." Duncan was a little surprised to hear the soft voice. Even if Elissa was addressing Alistair rather than him, he was relieved to hear her speak of her own accord. It seemed the boy had managed to gain a measure of trust from Duncan's newest and most introverted of recruits. But then, Duncan had been sure that would be the case, given enough time. Alistair was nearly impossible to dislike, even for a grizzled, hardened man like himself. He sometimes wondered how the templars at the Chantry had managed it so effectively. His seemingly effortless charisma was one of the reasons Duncan had set the junior Warden to watching young Cousland, to try to draw her out of her shell before her grief overcame her utterly and she succumbed to far worse.

Duncan knew full well that she hated _him_.

He abandoned her parents to die, in her mind; he took advantage of the situation to get what he came for. He didn't begrudge her for the anger she felt, but she was certainly not the first recruit to hate him. Most of them came to him either angry or broken and resigned, though on occasion, he was gifted with one or two who were eager to take up the griffon herald, like Ser Jory.

Like Alistair…

_ … The templars milled in the field of tournament, nearly blinding those seated in the shade of the stands when the late morning sun reflected off of the shining armor and weapons. Duncan checked a sigh and glanced out of the corner of his eye at Knight-Commander Glavin while the knights hurried to organize themselves. While it was essential that he get a feel for each fighter's style and skill before finding a worthy recruit, a tournament was impractical for his purposes. It took more than skill with a blade to become a Grey Warden. This impersonal display told him nothing of what he truly needed to know. _

_ A lone figure sat alone at the end of the field, unimpressed by the splendor of the demonstration. When he glanced in the direction of the stands, Duncan recognized him immediately. Alistair had grown into manhood since he had last seen him, tall and strongly built, with features that clearly betrayed his noble blood to those who knew where to look. He didn't seem to be participating in the contest, unarmored and left to polish a stack of shields for the templars to use._

_ Glavin noticed the Warden Commander's interest and sighed loudly. "That's Alistair." And then, before Duncan could comment, he said, "You don't want him."_

_ Duncan frowned. "Why is he not competing?"_

_ "I have hopes this will help him to see how a true templar behaves."_

_ Duncan shook his head. "I came to see the best of you, not the most polite. Let him fight."_

_ Glavin was visibly not happy with the decision, but he did as Duncan commanded, sending a page to tell the young templar to ready himself for combat._

_ Alistair wasn't the best on the field, but he was far from being the worst. He was young still, and gangly, but his body moved with surety that would sharpen into formidable skill with practice. But beyond that, Alistair had something the others clearly lacked. With every loss he would hop back to his feet, unscathed and grinning. With every win he would offer his hand down to the defeated. When it was refused, he simply shrugged and made a deprecating comment that drew chuckles from the watching crowd._

_ "How well has Alistair handled his templar training?"_

_ Glavin barely spared Duncan a glance, caught up in the excitement of the tournament. "He lacks the dignity worthy of a knight of the Chantry."_

_ Duncan allowed his voice to noticeably cool. "I asked how far he has gone in his studies."_

_ Glavin finally turned his way. He scowled, beginning to suspect where this conversation was leading. "He is willful and disobedient, but not unintelligent. He possesses the mental discipline necessary to be adequate in battle, even if he refuses to use it anywhere else." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Unless the Grey Wardens have the need for poor humor and a smart mouth, Commander, I would suggest you turn your interest elsewhere."_

_ In his mind's eye, Duncan could see Arl Eamon shaking a stern finger at him, warning him to leave the boy in the Chantry where he belonged, where he was safe. When he returned to the Chantry that afternoon, he had made up his mind not to recruit the young man._

_ Alistair was out in the back, stripped to his breeches as he labored beneath the hot sun, chopping wood to add to the already considerable pile._

_ "How much firewood does the chantry need?" Duncan asked as he approached._

_ Alistair flashed him a smile, but didn't cease working. "Enough to ensure I'll keep my mouth shut for the rest of the evening, at least."_

_ "You're being reprimanded?"_

_ "Always." He paused, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his face, and regarded Duncan curiously. "Wait… don't I know you from somewhere?"_

_ "I was at the tournament this afternoon."_

_ "Oh, I know that. You're the Grey Warden everyone's talking about. You've got the Chantry in an uproar, which is kind of funny to watch, really. But I swear I've seen you before this."_

_ It took a moment for Duncan to answer, surprised that the young man would remember him at all. "I am often in Redcliffe, seeking recruits." No need to add that he had made it a point to check on the child with each visit in order to make a report when he returned to Denerim._

_ "That must be it, then." Alistair resumed his chopping. "So who did you steal from the Grand Cleric? Kalvin? Maker, good riddance. If his head got any bigger they'd need to fashion an insert to get his helm on him."_

_ "Actually, I was thinking of taking you." Duncan hadn't intended to say anything of the sort, and wondered where the statement had even come from. While part of him did indeed think that Alistair had the makings of a true Grey Warden, he couldn't be an option._

_ Alistair was so startled that the axe nearly slipped from his grip. He caught it just in time and stared at the Warden Commander. "I… wait, __what__? Me? Why would you want me? I didn't even win! Did one of the others put you up to this?"_

_ "I'm not known for my participation in the amusement of bullies," Duncan said seriously. He frowned, wondering just how much grief Alistair had received at the hands of his fellow templars for his mind to automatically jump to the conclusion. "You are the only one I saw today who has the spirit I need in a Grey Warden."_

_ "Really?" Alistair's face broke out into a smile, a source of genuine warmth that Duncan hadn't seen on him since he arrived. A long-neglected part of Duncan's heart softened as he realized just how miserable Alistair was in this place. "You'd make me a Grey Warden?"_

_ "Yes, but I warn you, it is a difficult life I am offering. You can never come back. I won't force the decision on you. There are others who would suffice."_

_ "What I want, what I really__want, is to be __not __here. If you can manage that, I'm willing to take everything it comes with." He laughed. "I'll just get my stuff."_

_A stab of guilt went through Duncan as he watched Alistair run for the barracks to gather his few belongings. He remembered the smiling child in Redcliffe, and he felt like a killer. But all who would remember Alistair from back then were gone or past caring what happened to him. Only Duncan remained, and this was all he had to offer. _

_The Grand Cleric would not be pleased…_

… "We came across a strange woman and her daughter in the deepest part of the forest," Alistair was explaining, and Duncan silently cursed himself for his wandering thoughts, lost in memories like an old man who already has one foot in the grave. He determinedly gave his full attention to the group standing around him.

"They were both very… odd." Alistair finished on an unsure note, his brow furrowed as he tried to describe the strange encounter. "They had the treaties in their possession."

"Were they wilder folk?"

"I don't think so. They may be apostates—mages hiding from the Chantry." Alistair looked concerned by the idea.

Duncan was quick to shake his head at him. "I know you were once a templar, Alistair, but Chantry business is not ours. Your only concern is the Joining."

Alistair accepted the rebuke the same way he did all his other orders, with a simple nod and unwavering obedience. With the memories fresh and sharp in his mind, Duncan wondered if he deserved such loyalty. "We can begin," he said quietly, as a reminder.

Alistair glanced up, startled from his own thoughts, and nodded slowly.

"Are you ready?" Duncan asked the remaining three. The two men looked at each other, unsure, but Elissa only crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her eyes hard and mirroring no sign of fear.

"Let's just get it over with."

He smiled grimly. "Excellent. You will need that courage for what is to come."

"Just how much danger are we in exactly?" Daveth sounded more suspicious than frightened.

Duncan already had an answer prepared, thinking that so little changed from Joining to Joining. "I will not lie. We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to be what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later." He fixed them each with a stern look, determined to get the next words clear. "Once begun, there is no turning back."

At their silent assent, he led them away to the old temple. They were all three silent and subdued, each lost in their individual thoughts. The Warden Commander looked at each of his recruits with a sigh, thinking that he had felt old for longer than he ever expected to be alive.


	8. The Joining

**Chapter Eight**

_**The Joining**_

.

_In War, Victory_

_In Peace, Vigilance_

_In Death, Sacrifice_

_~ Grey Warden motto_

_._

_._

The old temple was on the outer edges of camp, dank and damp and smelling strongly of mildew. Alistair kept to a dark corner, his eyes grave and shadowed, not speaking to any of them while they waited for Duncan to return from the mage camp with the final ingredients. Elissa and Daveth, both worn out from the excursions in the Wilds, were sitting on the cold stone with their backs braced against the wall. Elissa watched as Daveth easily skipped a flat, round stone back and forth across his knuckles. She had always admired men who survived by being quick of hand and wit rather than brawny fighters.

Jory frowned at the cobwebs that choked the stone and heaved a sigh. "The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it."

Daveth shared an exasperated look with Elissa and shook his head. "Are you blubbering again?"

"Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

Daveth shrugged and yawned. "Maybe they're just trying to annoy you."

Elissa wondered at his confidence. Personally, she was internally shaking, and her breath was shallow in her chest. She automatically reached for Aiden to draw strength from the feel of his soft fur and hard muscle like she had so many times before, but when her hand met only cold stone, she remembered he wasn't there. Duncan had forced her to tie him up at the Grey Warden camp, concerned he would interfere with the ritual.

She curled her hands into fists and crossed her arms.

Jory began to pace, impatient. "I only know that I have a wife in Highever with a child on the way. If I had known…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "It just doesn't seem fair."

"Would you have come if they had warned you?" Daveth asked. Jory didn't answer. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Grey Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including _sacrificing_ us?"

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if it meant stopping the Blight." Elissa stared at him, surprised. At the same time, Alistair shifted from his position to do the same. "You saw those monsters, ser knight. Wouldn't you do all you could to protect your pretty wife from them?"

Caught and too proud to sound cowardly in the face of Daveth's unexpected bravery, Jory could only frown. "I… I simply have never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

"Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. If no one stops the Blight, we'll die for sure." Daveth tossed the stone like a man skipping it across a river. It clattered across the moss-softened ground and stopped to rest at Alistair's feet. "Better here than the gallows, I say."

Elissa had never thought to respect Daveth, even as she was slowly coming to like him, but she drew on the resolution in his words. _Better here than by Arl Howe's betrayal__._

She stopped shaking.

"At last we come to the Joining." Duncan's voice drifted to them from somewhere in the shadows. Elissa saw the outline of his figure and scrambled to her feet, Daveth at her side, as the Warden Commander moved into the light. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood… and mastered their Taint."

He held up a silver chalice, its rim stained a ghastly color that appeared more black than red in the torchlight. Elissa's stomach gave a violent heave. She couldn't blame Jory when his voice cracked in horror and he asked, "We're going to drink the blood of those… those _creatures_?"

Duncan nodded calmly. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, and as we did before you. This is the source of our power, and our victory."

Alistair finally stepped out of the corner, coming to stand beside Elissa and Daveth to explain. "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the Taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn, and use it to slay the Archdemon."

"Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed. That is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay," Duncan said, the gravity in his tone making Elissa shiver as a last tremor went through her. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Elissa saw the hazel eyes flash to her for only a second before he lowered his head, speaking as if in prayer. "Join us, Brothers and Sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day… we shall join you."

He didn't look at her again.

Duncan's eyes were nearly impossible to see in the dim light, save for a faint glitter. "Daveth, step forward."

Daveth took a deep breath and reached down to squeeze Elissa's hand. The move was brief, nothing more than a gesture of budding friendship in this terror they now shared, and when she met his eye, he gave her a small smile before he stepped forward to stand before Duncan. He paused for only a moment, looking down into the grisly potion with his face pale and his eyes smoldering before he lifted it to his lips.

At first there was nothing, only the sound of the camp in the distance and the wind in the trees, but without warning he keeled over, clutching his head in agony. Elissa started forward without thinking, but a firm hand on her elbow held her in place.

Daveth was writhing, a wail pouring out of him as he fell to his hands and knees. When he threw his head back, the soft brown of his eyes was gone, replaced by an eerie white light.

"Maker's breath!" Jory backed away, clutching his throat, his eyes wide and horrified.

One last cry of pain ripped itself from Daveth's throat before he crumpled to the ground. His body twitched once, and then fell silent.

He didn't move again.

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan whispered, his face drawn and aged with grief. He made a sign of blessing over the still form. Elissa shoved her knuckles into her mouth to keep from screaming.

"Step forward, Jory."

Jory refused, shaking his head back and forth like a great, confused bear. His face was like ash and beaded with sweat. He backed away from the cup in terror, and Elissa felt more than she saw Alistair move away from her side, stepping quietly to block the exit.

"But… I have a wife. A child. Had I known…"

"There is no turning back." Duncan's warning was severe as he matched Jory's steps. When Jory reached for his sword, Elissa saw the deadly intent in Duncan's eyes and Alistair's precautions against escape. She thought that she screamed, begging Jory to drink, but in her terror, she couldn't be sure, and he didn't hear her, regardless.

"You ask too much! There is no glory in this…"

His sword was swinging wildly at the Warden Commander, but Duncan was calm and had all his wits about him. He smoothly parried the attack and drove a dagger through Jory's heart.

"I am _sorry_, Jory," he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before yanking the weapon out.

Elissa was too horrified to even consider running—her feet were planted as firmly as if they had been melded to the stone. When Duncan approached her, his hands covered in blood as he offered her the cup, she took it, staring down into the crimson depths in terrible fascination.

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint." Duncan's dark, quiet voice rang in her ears, but it was secondary to another—a warm, loving voice that echoed in her mind—a voice that hardened with honor even as his life poured out onto the stone and seeped into the cracks of the floor of the larder, brave in the face of his own death.

_Elissa, you are a _Cousland.

Elissa Cousland died in the cellar, she thought. All that was left to her is this.

_The duty that cannot be foresworn_…

She lifted the cup and drank.

The pain gripped her in hands of fire, burning through her insides and she fell to her knees, sure she was about to die as ignobly as Daveth in the ruins of a forgotten temple. But Duncan's voice was twining around her father's to whisper in satisfaction, "From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden."

The world went black.

_… __The fire was a living, distorted thing, baking her lungs as she tried to breathe below the red, smoke-filled sky. The earth itself was burning, creation crumbling beneath her, and the screams of the dying echoed in her ears, snaking through her like poison._

_ She struggled to her feet, __her gritty __eyes burning until she felt she __could__ weep sand. A roar that __might__ split the skies shook the scorched earth beneath her feet and she whirled around in terror. A dragon with teeth like swords leered down at her, its reptilian tongue darting out as if to taste her fear._

_ She screamed and tried to run, but stumbled, falling as the beast drew up, spreading wings of night, terrible and beautiful in its unholy glory. One great, glowing eye glared at her, and she could swear that it paused, and made note of her existence…_

… The hellish vision faded and she was left only with pain. She felt like she was floating on darkness. It rolled and swirled around her, freezing her heart as it filled her, drawing deeper and deeper into her being with every shivering breath.

"_Elissa_."

The sound of her name beckoned her, pulling her down, back into a world of men and war and creeping death. The darkness began to dissipate, breaking away to uncover the normal sounds of the camp at night and the feel of cool air and stone against her skin.

Alistair's call was very soft. "Elissa."

She opened her eyes—no easy feat—and saw him and Duncan protectively hovering over her against a backdrop of stars.

"Welcome."

Alistair reached down to help her up. Her stomach was rolling and her head pounding, and she felt vaguely like she'd been poisoned.

"Two more deaths." Alistair's words were aimed at Duncan, but tears burned her eyes and she forcefully blinked them back, staring at the ground where Daveth and Jory had fallen. The bodies were already gone—discarded by the very people who had killed them.

Duncan nodded grimly but didn't answer, his face as impassive as ever. "How do you feel?"

_Like I'm dying_, she thought bitterly, clutching her head in an attempt to make the world stop spinning. "I'm fine."

There was a new awareness growing within her from somewhere near her midsection. A vague and insistent sensation of like calling to like tugged at her nerves, but she was sick and weak, and she felt Alistair catch her before she realized she was falling.

"Get her somewhere she can recover," Duncan said. His voice sounded far away. "She is to attend a strategy meeting with the king in the morning."

She knew Alistair grew irritated at the statement, but didn't know how she knew. She could feel it in the air around him.

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, and Alistair's arm went around her waist while he pulled her arm around his shoulders to support her.

"It'll pass in a bit," he said in sympathy, guiding her down the stairs. He started explaining things to her, something about a connection with the darkspawn, but none of it was making any sense.

By the time they reached the Grey Warden camp, she was better, still weak and shaking but reaching coherency. She saw a small tent pitched in the clearing where she had been sleeping. Alistair ducked inside and deposited her on her bedroll. Her few belongings were already there, as well as a new pack filled with necessities she had been doing without.

"Before I forget," he said, lifting up his hand to reveal a pendant dangling from his fingers. "This is for you. We take some of that blood and put it in this pendant. Something to remind us… of those who didn't make it this far." His voice was heavier, thick with undisguised emotion, and she realized that for all his talk of necessity, he was grieving.

He hesitated at the opening of the tent, glancing back. "I'm glad you made it through, Elissa." He was gone before she could answer, and a troubling, vision-filled sleep rose up and claimed her.

… …

Alistair stretched and yawned, his entire body shuddering with the intensity of it. He knew he desperately needed to get some sleep. He had worn himself out enough as it was with the trip in the Wilds, but he forced himself to stay awake.

It was a lonely watch he kept, gazing up at the stars between the breaks in the clouds. The camp was not exactly quiet, no matter what time of the night it was. The heavy footsteps of guards as the patrolled the parameter, the sound of men shifting and snoring in their blankets, the occasional bark from the kennels—Ostagar stirred with life at all hours, and this night that fact proved truer than usual. New soldiers rarely slept soundly the night before battle, tending to gear and muttering to each other, doing their best to combat rising fear with humor. The noise drifted to him like a faint hum on the breeze, breaking up the quiet night with sounds of laughter and the clinking of metal.

At the Grey Wardens' side of the camp, all was quiet. Veterans of war knew to take their rest when it was offered. Alistair had been fighting long enough that he fell into that category, and part of him longed to crawl into his blankets and find some much-needed rest, but straining to hear bits of the conversations happening around him would have to do for now.

Her nightmares still hadn't ended.

It was traditional for one Grey Warden to keep watch over those who had undergone the Joining for the first night, to be at hand as an additional precaution should the visions prove to be too overwhelming. As the junior member as well as the only one of them who knew Elissa, the duty fell to him.

At least that's what he told himself.

The simple fact was that no one would have expected him to take this vigil after the past few days. Why he volunteered for it, tired as he was, he didn't know, but he was fairly certain he didn't want to think about it. Instead, he stretched out his legs, edging his feet closer to the fire, and concentrated on not falling asleep. At length, the whispers of conversation died away. Only the crackling of the fires and the mournful cries of forest owls pierced the silence, broken occasionally by a quiet whimper or sounds of tossing coming from Elissa's tent.

He wasn't alone for much longer before Duncan joined him. The Warden Commander approached silently, his face grey with a weariness Alistair would not know for a long time.

"You should rest." Duncan didn't try to cover his reason for being awake with feeble excuses. "I will not be sleeping for some time, I think."

Alistair shivered. All of them knew that the dreams had come for Duncan, though no one wanted to talk about it. "I'm not tired," he said, and though he doubted Duncan believed that—he was a _terrible_ liar—he didn't press the point, simply taking a seat beside him.

"I noticed the Cousland girl has begun to trust you," Duncan said after a moment of companionable silence.

Alistair glanced up, skeptical. If she had begun to trust him, she most assuredly didn't _now_. "If that's what you want to call it."

"She speaks to you more than anyone else in camp."

"Generally to tell me to sod off." He sat back, crossing his legs at the ankle.

"Were you trying to be funny?" Duncan asked with a knowing look.

Alistair scowled. "And _that's_ when she bothers to speak to me at all. Most of the time she's perfectly happy to pretend I'm not even there. I've never met anyone so adept at not caring when someone is _talking _to them. The most enthused response I've seen out of her yet was when she stomped on my foot. Hard."

Duncan laughed, just a murmured chuckle beneath his breath. "I wouldn't take it too personally. Kindly keep in mind she has recently undergone an unimaginable experience."

"Two, actually, if you count what _we_ just did to her."

Duncan's eyes snapped back to him, piercing, and Alistair could feel himself begin to blush. He poked a stick into the fire for want of anything better to do, unnerved by the gaze and wondering where on Thedas _that_ accusation had come from. "You were frightened for her."

Alistair felt his shoulders curl defensively. He heard Duncan sigh and draw in a breath as if to speak, but he seemed to think better of it and stayed silent. The moment stretched, hovering over an unseen chasm. Alistair felt wretched enough to begin babbling. "Duncan, I didn't mean… I know you do what you have to do…"

The commander waved off his stammering apology. "Your heart is in the right place," he said, almost to himself. He smiled, a bare twitch of his mouth in the firelight, and glanced at Alistair in genuine amusement. "I'm sure you're not the first to notice that she's quite lovely."

Alistair groaned and ducked his head, rubbing his eyes.

Duncan took pity on him and said nothing more of it, instead cocking his head to listen. "I think our sister has finally found her rest," he said, lowering his voice a notch as though he was afraid of waking her. "I can take the watch from here. Go to sleep, Alistair. We'll need you at your full strength in the morning."

Though his tone didn't change, Alistair recognized the order for what it was and got to his feet, stretching before he headed off to the tents the Wardens shared at the lower end of the ruins.

He was about to duck inside and collapse when a whine got his attention. He turned to the source of the noise and hesitated when he saw Elissa's mabari pulling at his leash, his dark eyes fixed on the tent in the distance. She hadn't gotten the chance to retrieve him after her Joining, and the poor animal was beside himself with worry.

He started to ignore the struggling beast, but with a sigh, let his hand drop away from the canvas.

The mabari started to growl the moment he got within reach. Alistair stopped in his tracks, glaring. "All right, look —" He paused, trying to recall the animal's name. Arrow? Alden? He shook his head. "_Dog_. I'll let you go, but you have to promise not to try to take my hand off, or nip at my fingers, or even look at me funny. Agreed?"

The animal's stance changed in an instant, his ears perking and his tail wagging his short stump of a tail enthusiastically.

"You don't have to lay it on so thick," Alistair muttered as he knelt down to undo the knot. "It's not going to work. I'm onto you." The leash fell free. "You let her _rest. _Stay with Duncan until she wakes up."

The mabari barked once, and promptly licked his face.

"_Eeugh_!" He was sure there was more drool involved than was strictly necessary and scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. The dog regarded him with large, liquid eyes, and Alistair heard himself sigh. "Yeah, yeah, you're welcome. Just get out of here."


	9. The Battle at Ostagar

**Chapter Nine**

_**The Battle at Ostagar**_

.

_War is not an adventure._

_~Antoine de Saint-Exupery_

.

.

Elissa was startled awake the next morning, her eyelids flying open of their own accord and her head completely clear. She felt as if she were emerging from a fever; images from the night before were confused and ran together in her mind, tangled around nightmares and terrifying visions. The black dragon rose most prominently in her memories, emerging from ashes and smoke to roars from the darkspawn. She shivered at the memory.

She allowed herself to simply lie still for a moment, listening to the busy sounds of the camp. Sunlight filtered into her tent, bright and warm, telling her that she had been allowed to sleep longer than usual. She stretched and breathed in the scent of the cooking fires and the gentle, clean smell that followed a hard rain, washing the filth and stink of the camp away. This strange new life remained a mystery on so many levels, but she didn't need to know what enabled a soul to survive the Joining for it to be a humbling thing, to be alive this morning.

With a deep breath, she sat up and reached for her boots, thinking that she probably shouldn't take undue advantage of the courtesy they'd given her in letting her sleep. Her eyes landed on the gear the Grey Wardens had collected for her. Elissa had not been in any condition to dig through the pack the previous evening, but she did so now, relieved to find a bar of soap. She hurriedly wound her hair into a bun, eager for a proper wash.

Just as she was about to duck out of her tent and head to the bend in the stream that the Chantry sisters had curtained off, a strange sensation washed over her—the same pulling in her midsection that she vaguely remembered from the night before. She stopped abruptly, the tug pulsing in rhythm with the beat of her heart, and beneath it, another pulse, slower and stronger than the first, flowing like a song in her blood.

She scrambled out of the tent, but was immediately bowled over by Aiden.

The feeling vanished.

She laughed. "Get off," she said, shoving at the dog, who ignored the command completely, pawing and sniffing and giving her the occasional swipe of his tongue to apologize for not being there the night before.

"Good morning." She glanced up to see Alistair standing over both of them, laughing at the sight of her trying to free herself from under a hundred pounds of slobbering mabari determined to assure itself that she was unscathed. "Someone missed you, it seems."

Despite the return of his normal joviality, he looked preoccupied, often glancing down at the camp while he spoke. "I was just coming to check on you. The others have already had their breakfast, and I thought you might want to eat something before your meeting with Cailan."

Elissa suddenly realized she was completely ravenous. She managed to shove Aiden aside long enough to sit up and look at Alistair, her hand petting the dog's ears as he continued to nudge her in greeting. "I have a meeting with King Cailan?"

"You do. Sorry—I should have realized you might have forgotten. He wants you to join the war council at noon."

Elissa's eyebrows drew together in confusion at the strange request. She was certainly no tactician. "Why?"

Alistair shrugged. "Because you're the newest Grey Warden, and he's Cailan. He has to make a big show of welcoming you to the Order and all that." Despite the perfectly reasonable explanation, he shifted uncomfortably, and Elissa got the distinct feeling there was something he wasn't telling her—something gnawing and irritable, turning him slightly protective. She knew full well that she had somehow awakened some sort of chivalrous instinct in Alistair, gaining a guardian of sorts. Not that she minded—he didn't hover excessively, and after seeing a group of rowdy soldiers tossing back frightening quantities of ale her first night in camp, she learned quickly to welcome his presence. But it made her a little leery, how easily she seemed to be able to read his mood that morning. She was hesitant of becoming even a little closer to anyone in camp. Too much death and loss had already clouded her recent experiences to consider trying to make friends.

So, she didn't think about it.

That was made easier when her stomach began to growl, demanding she take him up on his offer of breakfast, and soon. "I'll be down there in a bit," she said.

He only nodded, hesitating. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but couldn't quite find the words, and with an irritable shake of his head, seemed to change his mind and walked back to camp.

_Oookaaay_, she thought, but shrugged it off and got back to her feet. She made her way to the stream for her wash, but the grumbling in her stomach only became more insistent by the second and she ended up making quick work of it. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so hungry, and cursed herself for not eating better since her arrival. Scrubbing the days of dirt out of her hair couldn't be rushed, however, and by the time she got the mass clean and combed the snarls out, she was forced to start for the Grey Warden camp at a run, afraid she'd be called away before she got the chance to eat.

The long table was nearly empty by the time she arrived, only four men still idling away the morning, but each of them turned her way when she ran up, out of breath. All of them bore a similarity to Duncan in her mind, dark-eyed and grimly passive, though not unkind as they studied her. Many of their ages were indeterminate, for they were men whom life had aged beyond their years, but a quick glance was enough to tell her she and Alistair were by far the youngest in the group.

"Sister," one of them said with a nod in greeting, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and he went on eating without another word.

She was ridiculously grateful for their lack of fuss.

She took the seat beside Alistair, the only familiar face present, her stomach gnawing painfully. It was one of the most difficult things she'd ever had to do, to observe the rules of her upbringing when her body was whining that she shovel as much food into her mouth as quickly as possible.

Alistair sensed her dilemma and leaned over, laughing quietly. "You can forgo the table manners, I think," he whispered to her. "It's an after effect of the Joining, that hunger you're feeling. You must be starving."

Her surprise wasn't nearly as great as her relief to hear that, and she eagerly rolled up the flat bread and jammed the whole piece into her mouth. For a long time, she thought only of filling the hole in her stomach, but as the pain began to ebb she suddenly became more conscious of her surroundings and, a little embarrassed, forced herself to slow down a bit. None of the Grey Wardens were paying the slightest heed to her, however, and at some point Alistair had gotten up to fetch a plate for himself.

She blinked.

He had even more food piled on his plate than she did, and as one of the other Grey Wardens got up to leave, he chuckled and asked, "Time for your midday snack, is it?"

"Shut up, Byron," Alistair mumbled around another mouthful. The Warden only laughed and slapped him on the back before he ambled away.

"Just how long ago did you go through _your_ Joining?" Elissa asked, forgetting for a moment that the incredulous question was bordering on being unacceptably rude.

He ducked his head, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth self-consciously, but he was smiling a little. "Uh, maybe I should have mentioned… it's kind of a permanent effect. Though in truth, this is only a little bit more than I ate normally, anyway."

She stopped completely, staring at him. "Permanent?"

"Um, yeah." He hurriedly dropped his eyes back to his plate. "There are a few things… we undergo some physical changes after the Joining. Duncan will fill you in on all the details when he gets the chance."

She had no intention of letting him get away with such a thoroughly unsatisfying answer, but at that moment the sound of many voices rose above the din of the camp, and she saw Cailan, surrounded by a crowd and once again donning the golden, rather impractical armor. Beside him was an older, taciturn looking man, frowning to himself. They were both headed towards an area of the camp bearing four long tables and sheltered by colorful banners.

Alistair looked relieved. "It appears you've been summoned," he said, a little too eager to see her gone. "You'd better get a move on."

"Aren't you coming?"

"Me?" He snorted and speared more potatoes with his fork. "They don't invite lowly commoners like me."

She didn't know what to say to that, and so said nothing.

… …

The war council was already in session when she reached them, Cailan arguing with the older man she had spotted earlier. She wondered if his black scowl was normal of his appearance, or if he was simply annoyed with the golden-haired king.

"My decision is final, Loghain," Cailan said, putting both hands down on the table to emphasize his point. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."

Teyrn Loghain, the hero of River Dane and savior of Ferelden during the Orlesian war, rubbed his eyes wearily with his fingertips. "You risk too much, Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

Cailan shrugged the argument way. "If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all."

Loghain's eyes narrowed, and Elissa wondered how Cailan could withstand the glower from such an intimidating figure. Though Loghain looked to be about the same age her father had been when he died, he was a powerful man still, tall and heavily muscled, with coal black hair combed straight back from his face, and the profile of a hawk preparing to strike. She knew that he was King Maric's best friend and that he had practically raised Cailan, which may have accounted for his impatience with him. "I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!"

Cailan looked stung by the heated remark, but stood up straight and crossed his arms with a regal air. "It is not a 'fool notion.' Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past—and you will remember who is king."

Elissa wished she could just slip away before she'd been noticed, but ignoring the summons of a king was never a wise idea, so she approached cautiously while the two stared each other down, taking a place beside and somewhat behind Duncan, who had quite suddenly become a welcome sight. He nodded in her direction by way of greeting, his dark eyes wandering quickly over her as though to assure himself of her continued health before he returned his attention to the pair.

Loghain broke the silence with a growl. "How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century."

If the remark was meant to shame the young king, it failed miserably. Cailan grinned as though he had won the battle already. "Well then, our current forces will have to suffice, won't they? Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

Duncan nodded once, confident. "They are, Your Majesty."

Elissa wasn't sure that Cailan heard the response, as his eyes had fallen on her, and his expression immediately brightened. "And Lady Cousland! I understand congratulations are in order."

She swallowed a groan, having hoped to get through this without drawing any attention to herself. She knew she had no real place at a council of war and didn't want to be asked why she was there, but now everyone's attention was on her, and she offered a brief curtsey. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

His smile widened slightly, blue eyes looking over her appreciatively. "Every Grey Warden is needed now. You must be quite honored to join their ranks."

Something clicked in her mind under his warm gaze, and she suddenly realized why Alistair was so uncomfortable telling her of this meeting. Though he displayed enough respect for his wife to attempt discretion, it was no secret in court circles that Cailan had more than one mistress at his disposal, high ranking ladies all. And here she was, a woman of noble birth and now the only female member of an Order that claimed his complete fascination.

_Wonderful_.

She struggled for an appropriate response that wouldn't encourage any advances, but she was unwittingly rescued from the delicate situation by Loghain, who once again looked perturbed.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality."

Cailan rolled his eyes, turning back to the general with a pointed look. "Fine, fine—speak your strategy." He sighed, looking down over the map Loghain had pulled forward. "The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then?"

"You will signal the tower to light the beacon." Loghain sounded as if they had gone over this many times before and he was tired of explaining it. "Thereby signaling my men to charge—"

"To flank the darkspawn. I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who will light the beacon?"

Loghain gave a half-hearted shrug, unconcerned. "I have a few men stationed there. It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital."

Cailan considered, chewing at his bottom lip and deep in thought. Finally, he nodded to himself as though coming to a great decision. "If it is as important as you say, we should send our best. Send Alistair and Lady Elissa to make sure it's done."

Elissa drew back, surprised. She had suspected she would be the one sent, being newest soldier in the entire army, but his mention of Alistair caught her off guard. Granted, she didn't know Alistair very well, but even a few days of familiarity was enough to tell her that he wasn't one to stay behind when there was a battle to be fought. "Your pardon, Sire, but I should be able to do this on my own."

"No," Cailan said, quickly and a little sharply. He seemed to realize it and softened his tone. "No, it's best that you both go."

"Your Majesty." Elissa recognized the mage she had seen arguing with Alistair her first day in camp. "The tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi…"

"No." An elderly woman wearing the garments of a Revered Mothered leveled her glare on the man, and he stepped back, lowering his eyes. Elissa could see the argument that struggled to get free of him as he shifted in place, but he was a mage of the Circle, and the woman a leader of the Chantry, and from the first day mage children were brought to the Circle Tower and the doors locked behind them, they were taught before all else to obey . "We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage. Save them for the darkspawn."

Elissa wondered how she managed to make the term "mage" sound like a filthy swearword.

Loghain straightened up and rubbed his eyes again. "Enough! This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

Cailan smiled again, nearly bouncing in place in his excitement. "Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens will battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"

"Yes, Cailan," said Loghain, sounding incredibly weary. "A glorious moment for us all."

… …

"_What_?" Alistair reacted much as she expected him to when Duncan told him of Cailan's decision. "I won't be in the battle? I… you can't… are you _serious_?"

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon isn't lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

Alistair crossed his arms, frowning, his tone turning unmistakably dry in his sulk. "So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch just in case, right?"

"Alistair—"

Alistair was quick to interrupt the warning. "You know, that tone isn't necessary _every_ time you say my name. What is it? Inflection? Accent? A burning desire to make sure I hear you?" Duncan glared at him, and Alistair heaved a sigh, throwing his hands in the air. "All right, I get it, I get it." He kicked at the ground, clearly still annoyed. "But, just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line—darkspawn or no."

Elissa couldn't help but chuckle softly at the mental image that comment conjured. "It'd be worth seeing, anyway."

Alistair grinned in reply and tossed her a sidelong wink. "What? Me sashaying down the lines? For you, maybe, but it'd have to be a pretty dress."

If Elissa had ever doubted that Duncan could do anything as trivial as sigh and roll his eyes, she should have least have realized that Alistair would be the one to cause it. "The tower is on the other side of the gorge," he said, commanding their attention with an unspoken order. "From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley. We will signal you when the time is right." He focused on Elissa, his expression stern. "Alistair is the senior of the pair of you, and knows what to look for. You will follow his lead. Understood?"

As if she hadn't already realized that. She nodded. "Understood."

He looked them both over a moment longer before nodding, satisfied, and reached into the satchel at his hip for the treaties. "I am trusting you to protect these. From here you are on your own. Remember, you are Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of the title."

He turned to leave, but Alistair stalled him. "Duncan," he said, abruptly serious, and Elissa could see the first sign of worry he'd allowed himself since talk of the battle began. "Maker watch over you."

Duncan acknowledged the blessing with a brief nod, his dark eyes troubled. "May He watch over us all."

… …

Elissa never knew waiting could be so difficult. She paced back and forth, occasionally giving her blades a nervous twirl. The camp was so quiet—she regretted ever complaining how loud it was.

Irritation made her look again towards the bridge the led to the tower. Her first battle, and here she was—torch bearer. It was maddening! She was surprised by the feeling, considering that up until now the only emotion she'd been able to recognize was nausea.

She took some solace in the knowledge that her partner was definitely more irritated than she was.

She glanced over at Alistair, who was also pacing impatiently, scowling to himself. She felt badly for him as she watched him gaze again and again towards the battlefield. Those were his brothers down there, after all. Hers to, she supposed, but it was difficult to consider strangers as such. She could understand how he felt—his anger at being held back, the frustration bubbling through him by this poorly concealed… protection.

The thought came so suddenly it stopped her in her tracks.

Alistair had explained the concept behind the Joining has he all but carried her to her tent the night before, of the "group mind," as he had put it, that they were all able to sense. She hadn't really been listening that closely, concentrating more at the time on not vomiting on him after her ordeal. But if they shared some sort of connection with the darkspawn, didn't it stand to reason that they shared one with each other as well? It made a strange, frightening kind of sense. It also explained her churning emotions towards this fight, why they skipped between apprehension and doubt to anticipation that bordered on excitement.

Her feelings were being influenced by _his_.

A degree of warning this might happen would have been nice.

Alistair noticed her sudden stillness and glanced over at her. "Something wrong?"

_Something isn't?_ "I guess I'm a little confused as to what being a Grey Warden entails," she said, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm from her voice.

He stared at her in confusion for a moment before his eyes lit with understanding, and he looked a bit like he wanted to cringe. "You learn to block it out." He said it like an apology. "And the older Wardens can keep things to themselves, with enough practice. I suppose there's a few things I need to explain to you once we get the chance."

"You think?"

Now he did wince. "Well, we can't go around proclaiming what we can do to all and sundry, you know. And it's a fairly minor side effect, considering. By way of supernatural powers, it's actually kind of pathetic."

He looked so nervous in the face of her anger that she felt it melt away in slow degrees. She was warned there would be changes, she reminded herself forcefully, and the lack of proper caution didn't fall on Alistair, but Duncan. She shook her head and settled for a resigned shrug. "Very well, then. But after this, you and I are having a little talk."

He brightened immediately. He really was ridiculously easy to get along with. "I promise you that."

The sound of horns interrupted them. From the field the noise rose to a near deafening level. Archers ran forward on the bridge, ready to defend the keep.

Elissa's stomach did a small flip.

Alistair smiled, relieved for the action. "Make for the bridge."


	10. The Beacon Light

**Chapter Ten**

_**The Beacon Light**_

.

_Have you no honor?_

_Have you no soul?_

_What is it they're dying for?_

_Do you really even know?_

_~ FFDP_

.

.

The scene was set like something out of an old saga, and Cailan was pleased that if it must rain, at least the shocks of lightning and the rolls of thunder in the distance added a sense of drama to the atmosphere. Despite the talk—and he knew full well what some of his generals thought of him—the king was not entirely without common sense. The horde outnumbered them, even without the appearance of the Archdemon, and morale was too important to be overlooked. The men had to believe they were creating history, that they were heroes like the ones in the tales of old, destined to win this battle, or the army would be crushed.

He glanced to his right and saw Loghain's hundreds on the hill, awaiting the signal. The day was dark with rainclouds and mist. It made the waiting army difficult to discern in the solid backdrop of grey, but even in the poor light, he could see the torch lights glint across weapons and armor, shifting and dancing across the gathering with the illusion of water in the sun. He imagined he could see Loghain standing strong in the front line, dour and taciturn as his mind raced again over each little detail, his sheer determination for perfection making his forehead wrinkle into a glower.

The thought was enough to make the young king chuckle quietly to himself.

The darkspawn began to slowly emerge from the mists, the Wilds seeming to give birth to a hideous, snaking line of monsters that made the soul seize in fright and the blood run cold. Cailan observed the men holding firm, grim and resolved in the face of evil. They would follow him to the death, each one of them, necessary causalities in order to see the monsters held at bay.

And after today, Cailan would no longer be King Maric's son, but King Cailan, Savior of the Blight.

He drew his sword, his entire body quivering with anticipation, and his voice was full of all the vigor and expectation for glory he longed for as he led the charge with a cry of: "For Ferelden!"

… …

"Get down!"

Elissa strengthened the warning with a yank on Alistair's arm, dragging him back when a flaming ball of magic slammed into stone and exploded around them in haze of heat strong enough to sear the air, sending a handful of archers tumbling down into the pandemonium below. Just as quickly, she was back up, trying to ignore the sound of their screams as she ran across the bridge, dodging debris and the occasional wayward arrow shot by the darkspawn genlocks on the hill. Aiden ran beside her, a war dog in his element, galloping straight and smooth as a thrown spear through the chaos.

They were already breathless by the time they reached the foot of the tower. They had just broken free of the range of the battle in the valley below when they were immediately greeted by a pair of Loghain's men, a soldier and a man wearing the robes of a Circle mage. "You!" the soldier gasped, running towards them, and the knot in Elissa's stomach twisted painfully when she saw he was streaked with sweat and blood. "Are you Grey Wardens? The tower's been taken!"

"What are you talking about? Taken how?" Alistair was already reaching for his sword.

"The darkspawn! They came up from below. Most of us have been killed."

She had never thought of silence as heavy until that moment, but the lack of anything to say fell between her and Alistair like a blanket, the roar of battle suddenly muffled by the rushing sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Alistair exchanged a startled, frightened look with her, but there was nothing else they could do. No one was coming to their aid and, with a wrench of will, she ordered her hands not to shake as she drew her swords. Aiden took the action as an order and bolted into the yard, making a straight path for a soldier who was desperately outnumbered and fighting for his life. She saw Alistair square his shoulders before rushing into the fray, well aware of how grim their chances had suddenly become, but determined to see his orders through. She had no choice but to follow him.

The darkspawn were swarming, and they had only each other to get through it.

… …

The forest had been smothered in silence, eerie and unnatural to anyone who knew the woods as she did. Morrigan stepped lightly, her senses seeking, trying to determine the cause for the absence of any and all life. She closed her eyes and listened, straining to hear anything other than the creaks of the branches and stirring of leaves in the gentle breeze.

It came slowly, barely a whisper of sound carried on a wind tainted by the sharp, metallic smell of blood being spilled, and she looked towards the ruins in the far distance to see smoke rising into the grey smothered sky. The war had begun, it seemed.

When she reached the hut with her satchel of herbs, her mother was standing stark and still in the shadows, listening to voices only she could hear. Morrigan settled down beside the fire without a word, accustomed to his type of behavior, and dropped her satchel, stretching long fingers stained green from her work towards the fire to ward off the misty chill.

At length, her mother spoke. "We go to Ostagar."

Morrigan glanced up. Of all the things she had expected to hear, that was not it. "What?"

"Now. Something is brewing there. I cannot quite hear…" She fell silent again, lost in thought, before abruptly fixing her yellow gaze on her daughter. "Are you waiting for me to repeat myself?"

With a shrug, Morrigan got to her feet and summoned the magic. She closed her eyes and welcomed the warmth as it filled her, transforming and changing.

Moments later, two owls—one black and one white—took flight into the darkening sky, headed for the battle at Ostagar.

… …

They were so _close_.

Elissa was sweating and aching all over, and she was no longer sure what blood belonged to the darkspawn and what belonged to her, her flesh torn time and again as they fought through the floors of the tower. She would be useless now, were it not for the healing power of the mage who followed them and Alistair's quick blade.

She would never have considered him ruthless, but in battle, he was nothing else. He was also far more skilled against these kinds of numbers than she was, a fact that she had noted in the Wilds and that became more painfully obvious with every passing second. After the first wave of attacks, they began working together more smoothly—his tactic of charging in and drawing attention worked well to create holes for her quick, sharp blades to slip through.

But there were just so many…

Finally, at the top of the tower, the end was in sight. She could see the kindling soaked in oil in the hearth on the far end of a circular room. Filled with renewed energy at the sight, they broke into a run, almost missing the hulking form that stepped forth from the shadows at their approach. She heard Alistair swear out loud as he saw the truth at the same moment she did, and they both slid to a halt, horrified.

The ogre filled the area between them and their goal, and the putrid stench of the beast combined with the horrors of torn flesh and pools of blood made her vision swim. It was upon them before either could regain their wits, and she swallowed a scream when the monster slammed Alistair against the wall with a single swipe of its massive hand. He struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and crouched into a fighting position.

Suddenly, everything became very clear.

Without allowing herself to think, Elissa turned to the mage, who was backing away slowly, his eyes wide in horror. She grabbed him by his arm before his natural instinct to turn and flee won him over and forced him to look at her. "Stay back. And do whatever you have to do to _keep him alive_."

Falling back on the discipline taught at the Circle, the mage forced himself to focus and nodded, gripping his staff in both hands. Raising her blades, Elissa paused only long enough to take a deep breath before running in to help.

… …

The sky was blackened with smoke, fires smoldering below despite the heavy downpour of rain. Morrigan followed her mother's lead, circling the ruins where the humans had camped while they made their stand against the darkspawn. She observed the sight of tents and mud and general filth in distaste, but they did not linger there, flapping north towards and army that waited on the edges of battle.

Morrigan alighted on a branch beside her mother, studying the man who waited for the signal that would tell them when to charge. Even with her hermit's upbringing, she was familiar with the legend of Teyrn Loghain. And, truly, he was an imposing sight, but she regarded him with no particular interest, instead lifting a wing to hunt for parasites until her mother's voice caressed her mind.

"_There is treachery at work here_."

"_Indeed? It seems a sound enough strategy_."

The older witch did not answer.

… …

Alistair rolled off the beast's chest, landing hard on his hands and knees and gasping for air. Elissa hurried over to help him to his feet. He appeared mostly unharmed, his dry humor reading even through the heaving breaths. "Maker's mercy, I can't believe we didn't just _die_."

The urge to laugh was overwhelming, but Elissa felt if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. "You're the one who listened to me."

"Yes, well, your crazy is clearly catching." He struggled to his feet before bracing his boot on the ogre's chest to free his sword from it with a vicious yank. He was smiling, though. She could feel it as well—the euphoria of surviving was pulsing within her, making her feel light-headed and giddy. He went to the window while she lit the beacon, trying to determine the progress of the battle below them.

His eyes met hers when he turned back, and in them she could feel, stronger than ever, the ill-warned connection the Joining had created. The power of his longing to be below washed over her—the yearning to help their brothers, to help Duncan. For the first time since Duncan had dragged her from the cellar of her home, she began to feel what it really meant to be a Warden. She met his gaze steadily, silently agreeing to toss their orders to the wind and join the fighting. In that instant, that brief eternity, Elissa felt that they understood each other better than anyone.

… …

The flare of the beacon burst forth from the roof of the tower, lighting the grisly battle scene with a wash of yellow-orange light. Morrigan ruffled her feathers, cold and bored and wondering what was keeping them there. _"And so the Warden has come through, as you already knew she would. Might we go now?"_

"_Patience_," the crone said, and it occurred to Morrigan suddenly—her mother knew something she did not.

Loghain looked up at the flaming beacon through narrowed eyes, but made no move to sound the charge. His face was dark and unreadable, lost in gruesome thoughts while the army shifted behind him, waiting for the order that would win the battle.

For a long time, he watched the dancing flames until at last he turned to his second, Ser Cauthrien, but the words were not the ones Morrigan expected. "Sound the retreat."

Cauthrien was completely taken aback, her head jerking around to stare at him as she tried to argue. "But, the king! Should we not—?"

Her objection was short lived. Loghain turned on her fiercely, seizing her wrist in a gauntleted hand. "Do as I command." His voice was low, furious, and even as Cauthrien moved to obey, Morrigan did not miss the way she jerked out his grasp with a twist of her wrist, seething and openly glaring into his angry gaze. She had nerve, that woman. Yet obey she did, and Morrigan watched in disbelief as the relieving forces were withdrawn from the field.

… …

They were losing.

As Cailan battled for his life against the horde, he watched for the beacon, the darkspawn thick and swarming. He could feel Duncan's presence if he couldn't see him, firmly and loyally at the back of his king, fighting off the swarms that threatened to overwhelm them.

The beacon of flame that exploded from the top of the tower was bright and warm against the gloom, and Cailan's soul sighed in relief at the sight, grateful that their salvation was at hand. He looked again towards the forces that waited, men who were fresh and ready instead of staggering with the fatigue of battle. The darkspawn would be routed, sent back down into their dank, dark holes where they belonged.

He could see, only barely, the movement of torches and many men, but they were not charging into the battle to save them. They were headed north.

They were retreating.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and he yanked his sword out of a genlock and kicked it back before spinning around to look again, praying that his eyes were deceiving him. Loghain and he had their differences, but he wouldn't leave him here to die—he couldn't…

A blood-chilling roar split through the night, and against a flash of lightning, Cailan saw an ogre bigger than any creature he had encountered roar and throw its head back, its massive fingers stained thick and red with the blood of the men dangling from its fists.

It saw him almost immediately—the golden armor lit up like a beacon in the lightning. Cailan barely had the wits to yank his shield around to defend himself, despair rising in his throat like bile as he prayed one last time that Loghain had not left him to die.

The ogre lowered its head and charged for the King of Ferelden.

… …

The army was left to its fate.

Loghain's men muttered amongst themselves quietly, as if in fear that the general who was more god than man in their minds might have overheard them. Yet they were obedient, sure that Loghain knew what he was doing, even as the dying screams of their comrades rang in their ears and faded away, lost in the storm as they trudged away from the abandoned army.

Morrigan could only shake her head at such fool-based devotion.

The glint of golden armor once again caught her eye, gleaming like a lure in the chaos that continued to rage around the handful of survivors trying to protect their king. Cailan was surrounded by hopeless numbers, his guards and the Grey Wardens all battling to save him. She saw the ogre charge, running down men like so many insignificant ants, its prey locked in its sight. She knew enough of the darkspawn to realize now that the Grey Wardens had been right all along. Mindless and driven only by instinct, the darkspawn would have to be acting under the orders of the vastly more intelligent Archdemon to suddenly swarm Cailan the way they did.

The king had been marked by powers he could not possibly comprehend.

His men were fighting and dying around him, and though the remains of broken weapons and arrows marred the ogre's flesh, it kept coming. Cailan was fighting as hard as his reserved training allowed, but he hadn't the skill to face such a powerful foe. The ogre reached through his defenses and wrapped an enormous hand around the king, yanking him into the air. For one moment, she could see the look of terror on the handsome face before there was a sickening, wet crunch, and the ogre tossed the limp, bloodied form aside. Blood pooled and spread beneath the remains of the golden armor beneath the lightning-strewn sky.

It took a moment for the reality of it all to sink in, for the implications to fully maximize themselves in her brain.

The king of Ferelden was dead, and the Grey Wardens beside him.

In a breath, in an instant, the war was lost.

"_And so the Blight marches unchecked_." Her mother's voice caressed her mind, calm and grim. "_Come, child—we have work to do_."

… …

The doors crashed open, the horde's overrun of the tower complete, and Elissa knew. Even as the darkspawn flooded the room, killing the unfortunate tower mage, her mind snapped the clues together into a frightening and horrible explanation of what was really happening. Then red-hot pain slammed into her, and all she could feel was the stone floor and warmth spreading rapidly beneath her.

Her last thought, before unconsciousness claimed her, was that no one should have to live through this twice.

They had been betrayed.


	11. Weight of the World

**Chapter Eleven**

_**The Weight of the World**_

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_Never confuse a single defeat_

_With a final defeat_

_~F. Scott Fitzgerald_

.

.

"So, your eyes open at last."

In a haze of gauzy vision, Elissa realized the voice was real enough, distorted in her confused state like it was coming to her through a wall of water. She reached up to rub her eyes, but a sharp, searing pain in her brow stopped her.

"I would not, were I you," the voiced added. "Mother was unable to heal that one completely. ''Twill doubtless leave a scar."

Her vision improved marginally, enough that she could recognize the golden gaze of the woman standing over her. "What happened?" she asked, and her words sounded as swollen and empty in her ears as Morrigan's had.

"You were injured. Mother rescued you. Do you not remember?"

It came to her like a cold wind blowing from the Fade, the memory of being overrun at the top of the tower, of arrows piercing the tender flesh beneath her armor, and of watching Alistair sink into a tide of darkness as the darkspawn overwhelmed him.

Morrigan continued, cool and nearly bored as she reported things that were tearing Elissa apart once again. "Mother managed to save you, though 'twas a close call. The man who was supposed to answer your call quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he left behind were massacred. Your friend—he is not taking it well."

"My friend?" she asked, desperately struggling against the cobwebs that imprisoned her mind. She needed to think, to grasp at the dangling hint of being alive and awake and hold on for dear life before it all became too much, before she had to feel the pain and loss again. A seed of coherent thought nudged at her brain and took root, and with dawning realization, Elissa suddenly knew the only person Morrigan would recognize. "Do you mean Alistair?"

"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before, yes. He is outside by the fire. He has been most anxious to see that you are well and whole."

Elissa struggled to sit up, and though the room initially lurched and spun uncomfortably before it settled, it did settle, and that was incentive enough to try staggering to her feet. She was barefoot and wearing clothes of light linen she didn't recognize. There were only traces left where the arrows had pierced her, and shallow splotches of white were all the remained of their marks. "Thank you for healing me," she said, her voice still weak, but more recognizable than it had been moments before.

"I… you are welcome." Morrigan seemed surprised. "Though, in truth, that was Mother. I am no healer." She glanced about the room, and Elissa realized with a touch of lonely, misplaced humor that the woman was completely unsure how to handle gratitude. "You'd best see to your friend. I will stay, and make something to eat."

Her legs were weak and shaking beneath her as she left the small hut, causing her to lean on the door frame to steady herself. She grit her teeth and waited for the ground to stop rippling before she glanced up and saw Alistair and the old woman sitting beside a campfire. Elissa's heart leapt to her throat at the proof that she wasn't alone, but Alistair's attention was lost somewhere in the dancing flames. He didn't look up until the woman spoke.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

He whirled around then, and his lips parted in disbelief when he saw her leaning there. "You… you're alive." She could barely hear the words, like he was afraid saying them out loud would make them less true. She stumbled slightly when she tried to move forward, and Alistair scrambled up and caught her arm, guiding her over to sit down by the warmth. "I thought you were dead for sure."

Elissa thought that the pain that had threatened to tear her asunder at the loss of her family was now reflected in his eyes, burning in the hazel depths like a contemptuous imitation of the light that had been there only days ago. "Duncan's dead," he said in barely more than a whisper, his grief twining around the words and weighing them down so they had to struggle to reach her. "Cailan…"

"I know." The answer seemed weak and inadequate, but it was all she had to offer. When he sat down beside her, he felt more shadow than man, as though whatever had made him flesh and blood and human got left behind in the tower.

He reached up slowly, and his fingertips hovered over, but didn't touch, the wound the darkspawn had left across her face. "It doesn't seem real," he said softly. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, young man."

The sharp undertone in the reprimand was enough to snap Alistair out of his stupor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean… but what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Some nagging part in Elissa's brain where she'd stored all of her childhood stories whispered that she already knew that, had known it for some time, but Alistair looked completely floored by the admission. "_The_ Flemeth?" he asked, sounding unnerved for the first time in all the terror-filled days she'd known him. "From the legends? Daveth was right—you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

Flemeth looked amused. "And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Through the connection created by the Joining, Elissa could feel the shift in him, the way he suddenly drew on his old templar training to feel out magic and gather the will to counter a mage's innate power. She hastily rested a warning hand on his arm, shaking her head ever so slightly. Despite Alistair's skill, she doubted that a witch of legend could be halted by something as minor as a counter spell. To her surprise, he relented, willing to follow her lead.

The exchange was not missed by their audience.

Flemeth's eyes narrowed, having felt the precaution as well, but she didn't seem the least bit threatened by it. "Let us be plain, boy. I saved you along with your fellow Warden because you are necessary. To what means, it is not given to me to know. Personally, I see little use for you, compared to your friend, but it is not I who decides. Long has it been the Grey Wardens' burden to stop the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"Then why didn't you save Duncan?" It was a question born of despair, and this time Alistair ignored the subtle warning she was trying to give him to tread carefully. "He is… was… our leader."

For an instant, the witch's eyes seemed to soften. "I am sorry for your Duncan, but your grief will have to wait." Alistair didn't answer, running a slow hand through his hair, his eyes closed against his sorrow. Flemeth regarded him carefully before she nodded to herself like she had just solved a puzzle. "In the dark shadows before you take vengeance," she said, and he looked up, curious. "Or so my mother always said. Tread carefully, and your road will take you where you long to go."

"But why would Loghain do it?" Elissa finally asked, uncomfortable with the understanding that lit Alistair's eyes at the vague instruction. She didn't want to linger here.

"A wise question, but one I cannot answer. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any Tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he doesn't see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The Archdemon." Alistair shook his head, rubbing his eyes in a gesture that screamed of hopelessness.

"But I don't understand." Elissa was more frightened then she had been in the tower, pushed to the brink and unable to feign control she didn't feel. "What is the Archdemon?"

Flemeth looked at her curiously, her yellow eyes drinking in her features as she considered the question. "Legend states that the Archdemons of the Blights are the Old Gods of the Imperium, dragons awakened and Tainted by the darkspawn. Whether or not that is true, history claims it to be a fearsome and immortal being, and only fools ignore history."

Elissa's blood ran cold, memories of the vision that haunted her dreams after the Joining rising up in a cloud of sheer panic in her mind. The glowing, reptilian eyes filled her vision, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. "The dragon? We have to stop… that thing?"

Alistair laughed, grim and hollow, and the sound screeched along her nerves like nails on slate. "Not by ourselves, we won't."

He continued to poke at the fire with a stick, and Elissa had to close her eyes and draw a breath to steady herself and keep from screeching at him. "What do you suggest we do, then?"

He shrugged. "I hear Antiva is nice this time of year."

Her panic released itself in an inarticulate growl that made him wince, which only made her feel guilty. He had been so patient with her after losing all she knew, and here she was, quivering at the point of hysterics. He needed her to think, since he was unable to do it himself. Frantically, she wracked her brain, trying to sort through the all-together insufficient knowledge she had. "If any of the other Wardens survived—"

"They did not." Flemeth's voice cut through the fantasy like a knife. "Only you remain." She leaned nearer, her withered face close enough that Elissa could see every line of time etched there. "Come, girl—you know the answer."

"The treaties." The answer burst forth from the back of her mind, and Alistair finally glanced up, a hint of interest sparkling in his eyes. "Duncan gave the treaties to Alistair before we went to the tower!"

"There's a smart lass." The witch smiled in approval. "Long have the Grey Wardens called armies to their cause, and the years have not changed that. Despite the work of short-sighted rulers and treacherous war generals, the Grey Wardens have earned their place in the minds of the common folk."

"So if we go to them, the dwarves and elves and mages, and remind them of their agreement, then…" She stopped, her voice trailing off as the enormity of the task slapped her in the face. They had nothing—no supplies or coin, and the races, distrustful to the point of paranoia towards each other, were spread all across Ferelden. The army of darkspawn crawled along the southern lands, unchecked and able to sense them. They would be fighting off the horde a bit at a time just to leave the Wilds, in constant danger from the Taint calling out the enemy.

It couldn't be done.

There had to be another option. "Alistair." He didn't respond, and she had to snap her fingers to get his attention. He looked up, dazed. Elissa got the feeling he had also been contemplating their odds. "What about making more Wardens?"

"Oh." He shook his head, trying to think. "I… I don't know how. There are additional components that go into the potion, but they're a highly guarded secret, known only to the senior members of the Order." He looked at her, apologetic. "I've only been a Grey Warden for six months, Elissa."

She had known he was a new member, but she had no idea he was _that_ new. She would have laughed, but she recognized it as a sign of panic and swallowed the sound, nearly choking. The hope of the world was resting on the shoulders of two Grey Wardens who knew nothing of their own powers and barely understood what they were.

They were all going to die.

Flemeth didn't seem to share her hysterical blend of humor, instead eying Alistair dubiously. "You will go with her?"

That seemed to wake him up, to judge by the look of incredulousness that he gave the witch. "Of course I will," he said, his words quiet but firm. "You think I'd leave this to her to do alone?"

Elissa hadn't been entirely certain, either, and was thankful to hear as much, but she still didn't remember agreeing to this mad scheme.

Flemeth nodded, satisfied. "Very good. She will need you, before this is over. You must leave, and now." Flemeth was apparently done discussing the matter, getting to her feet. "Morrigan can show you the quickest way past the horde, but that will not remain true for long. We saved a satchel or two from your camp, but I do not know what supplies they carry. You will have to decide what to take and what to leave."

"But—" Elissa's mind was reeling, and the feeling of being shoved forward against her will only increased. "My brother is out there somewhere! I have to find him!"

The flash of sympathy in Alistair's eyes only served to upset her further. Let him believe whatever he wanted. She wouldn't accept that Fergus was dead with all the others.

"The patrols were a long way from the battle, and there may be others as well." Alistair coming to her defense in response to Flemeth's condescending look caused her frustration with him to cool considerably. "Someone else must have survived."

"Such humanity. It must be difficult not to cling to hope, however faint." Flemeth shook her head at their naiveté. "You two have much in common."

Alistair opened his mouth to argue, but ended up shutting it slowly, burying his face in his hands. Elissa knew how he felt, reality crashing in all around her and when she closed her eyes against it, all she could feel was Alistair, the song of his blood dimmed to a lone cry in the darkness.

There was no one else.

"I did not save you so you could throw your lives away playing at heroics," Flemeth continued ruthlessly. "The Blight is what matters. As Grey Wardens, you should know this better than anyone. Or would you tarnish your Duncan's memory by ignoring your sworn duty?"

That would clinch it for Alistair, Elissa knew, and she looked around helplessly, trying to figure out a way to make them understand. She couldn't leave without at least looking. Fergus wouldn't have rested until he assured himself that she was safe or dead, no matter who tried to hold him back. The thought of him alone and wandering, or even worse… left to the Wilds, without so much as a proper burial…

"Your brother's fate is no longer yours, Warden." There was a warning in Flemeth's eyes, cold and harsh and far more dangerous than anything else Elissa had encountered. "There are other powers at work here, which warned me to find you and save you both for some purpose only they know of. I am old enough to know that it is very unwise to begin arguing with them."

"The stew is boiling, Mother." Morrigan's announcement drew the attention of the other two, giving Elissa the time she needed to blink back tears of frustration and terror. "Shall we be having two guests for the evening, or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving us, girl—and you are going with them."

Elissa and Alistair's heads both snapped up at that revelation, though it seemed to take Morrigan a second longer to hear the same words they did. "Such a shame. I—_what_?"

Flemeth cackled. "You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears."

Morrigan looked appalled. "But… this isn't how I wanted this. I'm not ready…"

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance." Flemeth turned her back on her stammering daughter, fixing Alistair and Elissa with a stern look. "And you, Wardens, understand this: I give you that which I treasure most in all the world. I do it because you _must_ succeed."

Something of his old spirit lit in Alistair's eyes, some deeply ingrained sense of decency that even his sorrow could not quench entirely. "She won't come to harm with us."

The three were silent as they prepared to leave the Wilds, grimly packing away their meager supplies into the pilfered satchels. As she tightened her cloak more securely around herself to stave off the heavy mist, Elissa cast one last despairing look into the thick of the trees. "Alistair?" Her voice was so tangled with suppressed emotion she barely recognized it. "Have you seen Aiden?"

He shook his head, sounding sharper than usual when he answered. "Flemeth didn't even save Duncan, Elissa. You don't honestly believe she stopped for a _dog_, do you?"

No, she didn't believe it, but hearing him confirm it, making her sound ridiculous for hoping, brought the reality scraping home. Pain flooded the cold cavity in her chest, and some of it must have trickled into her expression, because for a moment Alistair looked as though he had bitten his tongue. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't… we could look for him…"

"No." He looked even more miserable at her quiet resignation. "Let's just go."

She was grateful for the cold damp of the morning, the heavy fog making it impossible to discern the tears that stained her cheeks as they began the march out of the Wilds.

… …

It was raining.

Correction—it was _pouring_, the water falling from the nearly black sky in sheets heavy enough to break through the suffocating canopy of trees and camouflage the landscape in heavy mists that rose from the bog surrounding them. Alistair lowered his head, shielded by the hood of his cloak, and wrapped the heavy garment more securely around himself. It was little protection against the onslaught, made worse by the ankle-deep mud that they trudged through for lack of a proper road.

It was only mid-morning and so Elissa had pushed to keep going, but she stopped now and turned to him, leaning near so that he could hear her clearly beneath the thunder that rumbled all around them. "Should we just look for a place to hole up for now? We're not really making any progress in this."

He silently agreed, sopping wet and thoroughly miserable. He hadn't felt warm since…

Well, he hadn't felt warm since Ostagar.

The thought darkened his mood further, and he only managed to respond with a shrug to Elissa's question. With a sigh, she turned away from him. It wasn't until then that he came out of his preoccupation long enough to notice that her lips were blue and her teeth were chattering. Her light cloak wasn't designed for heavy travel—she must have been completely soaked through. That he hadn't even noticed was enough to make something inside of him tear free and fill him with self-disgust. He'd never known loss like this before, and even he was aware of just how poorly he was handling the vicious blow. Were it not for Elissa's prodding, he probably would have happily curled up with his grief and let it claim him, unable to care about the Blight or his duty or anything else.

She didn't try to speak to him again, following behind Morrigan as she looked around for some sort of shelter. Feeling guilty over his ignorance of her discomfort and shamed by her lack of whining about it, Alistair lifted his head and forced himself to search as well, somewhat relieved to have some sort of goal in place that would take his mind off of Duncan and the others.

Even if the goal was something as simple as getting a pretty girl out of the rain.

Finally, they came to a ruin that provided at least some protection from the wind. It wasn't much of a shelter, but in the farthest corners the leaves were still dry, and Elissa sacrificed her blanket to create a sort of lean-to with her rope. The two of them huddled down next to each other, wrapped in their cloaks and doing their best to hold on to what little warmth they could. Morrigan refused to join them, sitting as far away as she could get in the cramped space, creating her own shelter.

Alistair dug through his own supplies and came up with a relatively dry blanket to hand to Elissa, which she accepted with a small nod of thanks as she tried to light a small fire with what fuel she could gather. Tendrils of black hair that had worked free of her braids were plastered to the sides of her face and she was shivering so violently she could barely hold onto the piece of flint in her hands. Fine thing that would be, for the only person he had left in the world to drop dead because he was too distracted to notice.

"Here," he whispered, taking the flint and stone from her. "I'll do that."

She nodded, grateful, and huddled down into the threadbare blanket, her knees pulled to her chest and her head lowered. Elissa had been even quieter than usual during their trek through the Wilds, gliding beside him as she retreated deeper and deeper into her own mind. She was lost, too, he reminded himself bitterly, and with less knowledge of what she was supposed to do now than he had. But then, maybe that was better. If she had any idea at all at just how hopeless this mission was, she might not have been able to keep going.

Loghain. It all came down to Loghain. He was the reason they were out here in the middle of nowhere, fighting elements the daughter of a rich noble had no experience with and was ill equipped to handle. He was the reason Duncan was gone, and Cailan was a bloody pulp on an overrun battlefield. He was the reason they were walking into their own deaths in a hopeless attempt to stop the Blight all by themselves.

So lost was Alistair in his thoughts of blood and vengeance, he almost didn't hear the sound of something both large and heavy crashing through the foliage, headed straight for them. He yanked the hood of his cloak back to widen his range of vision and reached for the hilt of his sword, expecting the worst, but before he could even recognize the filthy, matted creature galloping towards them, Elissa was on her feet, letting out a cry of childish delight he hadn't thought her capable of.

"_Aiden_!"

He had no idea how Elissa recognized the animal in the brambles, but at the sound of her voice, Aiden let out a happy _wuff_ and leapt straight at her, and the two went over in a tangle of fur and cloak and landed in the mud. Elissa was laughing, bright and merry as a young girl while Aiden frantically licked her face. For an instant, the heaviness that had weighed down his soul lifted, and Alistair felt the first smile in days touch his lips as he watched Elissa greet the enormous animal like he was her only friend in the world.

Which he probably was, he thought miserably. Morrigan could barely be counted as human, with her sharp tongue and brutal honesty, and the way he'd been behaving, he was surprised Elissa hadn't abandoned him already.

"So now we will be responsible for this mangy beast?" Morrigan asked from her own corner, scowling. Alistair shot her a dark look as he pulled his hood back up. "I have no love for animals broken down and forced to obey." Morrigan had seen the look and glared at him, speaking heatedly in her objection to more company. "We've barely enough food for ourselves as it is. Domesticity is a weakness that—"

Aiden growled deep in his throat, flashing a row of razor-sharp teeth. Alistair couldn't help but smirk a little when she immediately stopped complaining and took a step back, her eyes wide.

Elissa sat up and tried to wipe her face, only succeeding in smearing mud across her cheek, and his smile widened marginally. "The mabari aren't forced to obey anyone," she said. "They chose their own masters. They call it imprinting. Aiden found me when I was fifteen. He's my friend."

Aiden bumped his head against hers in response, and she laughed and threw her arms around him. It was easy to see the change in her, some great burden lifted from her shoulders by so small a blessing in the midst of so much sorrow.

Elissa settled back down, smiling as Alistair got a fire started, sheltering it from the wind with his cloak until it could catch properly. He felt a nudge on his shoulder and looked up to see the mabari watching him with too-intelligent eyes. It allowed Alistair to reach out and briefly run a hand over his head. "Good boy." His voice still sounded raspy and broken from long disuse as he scratched the dog's ears. "Don't lose her again, okay?'

Aiden whimpered and licked his hand in reply.

… …

This is what her grief must have looked like from the outside, Elissa thought as they made their slow way to Lothering, a small village that dwelt on the edge of the Wilds that would hopefully offer them some supplies. Her heart ached as she watched Alistair simply exist from day to day, trudging through each hour in an emotionless void of routine. He spoke only when questioned directly, otherwise wrapping himself in a cocoon of silence even the witch seemed hesitant to penetrate.

Elissa risked a glance at him, sitting away from the fire and alone, hunkered down in his cloak against the chill wind. He was becoming as much of a self-imposed outcast as Morrigan.

She was beginning to doubt Alistair's reassurances that time and practice would dim the connection they shared. Not that she thought he was lying to her, but the last Blight was over four hundred years before. The Taint was supposed to be stronger during a Blight. Had the Wardens, forced to endure tragedy and loss back then, found their brimming emotions spilling over into each other as well?

It wasn't really worth the speculation, she supposed, except she carried a twisted knot of guilt and sadness in her chest that she knew was more Alistair's than her own.

With a shake of her head, she turned her attention back to Aiden, and the dog did need her attention. He had been wounded in his wanderings, with a deep cut in his leg. It had gotten infected while he searched for his master, and they didn't have the time or supplies to let him rest and heal. Elissa tended to the dog every time they stopped, and was grateful to see her minor knowledge of herbs was enough. He was improving.

Aiden whimpered, and she looked up from her musing to find him watching Alistair. He turned his dark eyes back on his master, as though pleading with her to help.

"I know," she said, rubbing his back. "I'm worried about him, too."

The dog whimpered again, nudging her shoulder.

"I'm not so sure he wants to talk to me."

The whining persisted. Elissa threw her hands up in defeat. "I'll try, but don't be surprised if he just sends me right back over here."

Satisfied that she was up, Aiden simply laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

She walked over to Alistair, deliberately stepping on a twig in her passing so as not to startle him. He glanced up at her, and then readjusted his cloak and kept staring straight ahead.

"If you want me to leave you alone, I will."

He didn't answer for a long time. Just as she was ready to head back to the fire, he looked at her again. "Not particularly."

Elissa sat down across from him, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them to ward off the cold. It was well into spring, but the south was plagued with rains and air grew moist and chill once the sun set each day.

Alistair looked over towards the fire, frowning. "Where's the witch?"

He had yet to call Morrigan by name.

"She claimed she needed to restock some of her herbs." Never mind that the night was mature and she hadn't taken so much as a small sack with her.

"You sound doubtful."

She shrugged. Elissa honestly preferred not knowing what Morrigan got up to at night. "Aren't you?"

He gave her a twisted smile, but it looked almost painful for him to do. "Definitely."

She didn't particularly mind Morrigan, but she knew Alistair had trouble adjusting to her sudden and uninvited presence. The fact that Morrigan also seemed incapable of being even halfway civil towards him didn't help matters at all. "She never comes near me, you know. There's no reason to put yourself into exile."

He sighed. "I think I'd be lousy company, to be honest."

"And I've been nothing but pleasant since we met. You're right—best stay over here and freeze, then."

He ignored the sarcasm. "I'm… thankful, that you would try to help, Elissa, but I'm not sure you could understand." She looked at him levelly, and Alistair caught his blunder almost immediately. "Maker! I didn't mean… of course you know… you've been through so much…" He shook his head, sighing again. "Never mind. I'm an idiot."

"You've got a lot on your mind."

"Yeah, like being an idiot. I dwell on it more often than you might think."

She gave him a halfhearted smile, nervously plucking at strands of grass while she wondered what to say. He was practically a stranger to her, someone whom fate had thrown in her path only a week before. Yet that same power had also given him the same burden, forcing them to rely on each other.

More than that, she remembered him coming to her in her grief, despite the fact they knew even less of each other then. It was a simple act of decency in a world where kindness seemed in danger of disappearing all together. He deserved the same.

It had never been Elissa's nature to hedge, and she decided directness was called for. "Do you want to talk? About Duncan?"

"You don't have to do that." He seemed strangely hesitant to look at her. "I know you didn't know him very well."

"You once told me the offer stood open. I want to talk to you. Please."

He finally met her gaze, and his hazel eyes were clear wells of pure misery. "What do you want to hear?" he asked quietly. "That I feel like I abandoned them? I should have _been_ there." His voice broke on the words and he looked away. "I should have died with them." He buried his head in his arms, and Elissa realized he was weeping—the choking gasps of a man who felt shamed by tears.

She rose to her knees and put her arms around him, offering the simple comfort of another person's presence since she had nothing else to give. Blindly, he held her, his arms around her waist as he struggled with the grief and guilt and she didn't speak, didn't have any words that would make this better.

All of their reassurances had died at Ostagar.


	12. Wanted

**Chapter Twelve**

_**Wanted**_

.

_Let it be enough to reach_

_the truth that lies_

_Across this new divide_

_~ Linkin Park_

.

.

The sun peeked over the edge of the horizon, bathing the land in a ghostly hint of day beneath the thick, grey clouds. Elissa took a long time in waking up that morning. The trials of the past few days were catching up to her at last, making her feel spent and wrung out. She was dreading the pain of sore muscles that she knew would be there, her body having begun to take issue with sleeping on the hard ground. She was uncomfortable already, the coarse, prickly grasses poking up through the thin fabric of her cloak. She wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep for a few more hours—or days—but the sound of bickering coerced her dozing into full wakefulness.

"Have you finally resorted to slitting your own throat, then? Perhaps we shall be allowed to make some progress today after all."

"You're going to have to talk to Elissa. I'm still pretending you're not here."

Elissa let out a sigh that sounded more like a groan and peeked open one eye. She had no intention of doing anything more than making sure Morrigan and Alistair weren't trying to kill each other before she tried to go back to sleep. Despite Alistair's recent depression and subsequent silence, the two had managed to form a relationship of solid dislike in the brief time they had been together. It happened so quickly it would have been fascinating to watch—if it hadn't been so irritating.

"I would be quite pleased to speak to someone remotely competent, if you would permit me to wake her before we lose any more daylight." Morrigan stood by what remained of the fire, fully dressed and apparently ready to be on the move. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she glared down at Alistair, who sat on the ground near his blankets, deliberately ignoring the witch. His hair was damp and pushed back from his face as he attempted to shave with his dagger in the poor reflection of his shield.

"It's barely dawn," he argued. "We don't even _have _daylight yet."

Seeing no sign of blood or injury, Elissa pulled the blanket back over her head and rolled over, deciding to leave them to it.

"You are in the _Wilds_." The threadbare cover did nothing to muffle the bite in Morrigan's logic. "Do you honestly believe yourself to be safe here? The darkspawn horde is not far behind us."

"We can afford to let her sleep in a bit. We should reach Lothering by noon today, if we are where you say we are. You have no idea what we've been through, and she was up nearly all night last night."

"Yes, tending to _your _melodramatics. I fail to see why she puts up with such a hindrance."

"Couldn't you crawl into a bush somewhere and _die_? That would be great, thanks."

Squeezing her eyes shut wasn't working, either. Elissa growled to herself and yelled through the blanket, "I'm _awake_!"

The bickering stopped immediately. She sighed and forced herself to sit up, groaning at the stiffness in her back and neck. Morrigan said nothing, satisfied that Elissa was at least up, and moved back towards her own blankets, which were spread out away from the main fire at the edge of the clearing.

Alistair had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "Sorry."

She shook her head, rubbing the last of her sleep from her eyes. "No, she's right. I need to be up." She felt slightly less cold and damp than she usually did in the mornings, and a quick glance behind her explained why. Aiden was curled up against her, looking at her with his large, liquid eyes. Elissa laughed. "Sweet boy. Were you afraid I wouldn't be warm enough?" She ruffled his ears, her nose pressed against his while he gave her a doggy grin. "What a wonderful, sweet boy you are."

She looked up to find Alistair staring at her incredulously. She sat up straighter. "What?"

"You're baby-talking a mabari warhound."

"So?"

He shrugged and turned back towards the makeshift mirror. "Nothing. Just wanted to hear someone say it out loud is all." Elissa laughed, earning her a small smile from him. He wiped his face and turned around, crossing his legs so he was sitting facing her. "So, I was wondering—did you have any thoughts on where we should go after Lothering?"

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead," she admitted. "All my thoughts have been focused on supplies. And _food_. Why?"

"I was just thinking—"

"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan said from across the camp.

Alistair closed his eyes, no doubt biting back an equally nasty retort. "I was just _thinking_," he said again, "Redcliffe is the nearest arling. Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar. He still has all of his men. And he was Cailan's uncle."

Elissa thought about that as she unwound her hair from its braids, grimacing at the gritty texture before she dug around in her satchel for a brush, determined to relieve it of some of the dirt it had collected before she went to the river for a rinse. "My father always spoke well of Arl Eamon, but what makes you think he would help us? Loghain is probably spreading his own version of what happened at Ostagar. He could be making us look like deserters."

Alistair didn't answer right away, taking his time as he got to his feet and strapped his sword belt on. "I know the arl," he said at last. "I was a stable boy at Redcliffe Castle when I was a child. He's a good man." He shifted his weight uncomfortably, still not looking at her directly. The man really was a horrible liar. Elissa sensed there was enough truth to the story to alleviate his conscience, but there was definitely something he wasn't telling her. "It was Arl Eamon who decided to send me to the Chantry. He'll remember me."

Elissa glanced at her companion sharply, but he had already turned away. She had noticed Alistair's long-fingered, graceful hands and fine bone structure some time ago—in fact, several things about him hinted at nobility, causing her to wonder more than once just who his parents were. She could only think of one reason a man as powerful as an arl would take any interest in the future and education of a stable boy who served in his castle, but she certainly wasn't going to ask about such a delicate subject. Instead, she just said, "It's worth looking into, anyway."

… …

The river they had been following abruptly decided to meander north before curving back east, creating a valley in which the village of Lothering appeared, nestled against the rolling green fields. A collection of homes and farms decorated the landscape beyond the bridge, which was dotted with carts and dogs and the occasional chicken. In the distance, Elissa could make out an old windmill, and a high, shingled roof of what promised to be a chantry. She couldn't help a sigh of relief at the sight, so welcome after three days in the Wilds. She hadn't realized how much she missed proper civilization until that morning, when the swamplands finally gave way to a proper dirt road.

However, with the road came new dangers. The darkspawn were gaining ground, the horde moving closer to the settled lands in the south with every passing day. Just this morning, a group of stragglers that had broken off from the main horde had found them, tracking them like animals through the shared Taint. The fight had been brief, but a clear warning to keep moving, and quickly.

The darkspawn weren't the only threat in the area. As the southern towns became aware of the defeat at Ostagar, they moved quickly to try to escape the unchecked horde closing in on them. Bandits and highwaymen took advantage of the desperation and were gathering in disturbing numbers, blocking roadways and bridges until the fleeing populace handed over all the coin they had. Elissa, Alistair and Morrigan had escaped these groups for the most part, the majority of them not particularly interested in starting trouble with such well-armed travelers, but they had encountered one particularly bloodthirsty group that had been unable to leave well enough alone.

At least they wouldn't be harassing anyone else, now.

The three of them entered Lothering filthy from battle, their clothes and armor splattered in blood. Elissa could only imagine the image they presented to such a simple country settlement, but it was beyond her to worry about it much. The village at least promised shelter, and, more importantly to the Wardens, a chance to buy food. She would figure out a way to explain their disheveled appearance once she had a proper full stomach again.

As they descended the steps from the bridge, however, Elissa saw that Lothering had more concerning it than three battle-worn strangers. The village was much more crowded than it had appeared from a distance: a suffocating press of humanity that choked the streets, raising the dust of the road into a fine cloud that seemed to settle over everything. The populace was in a frantic state, gathering up belongings, calling to each other to hurry as they loaded up rickety carts, making a last ditch effort to outrun the darkspawn. Children were rounded up hastily, slaps and tears quick to fall if they whined. Tents and lean-tos were set up everywhere there was space, those people with nowhere to go huddled miserably within.

"Call it a hunch, but I think the people of Lothering are aware of the approaching darkspawn horde," Alistair said from behind her, narrowly stepping out of the way of a man who ran past them, clutching a bundle of blankets to his chest.

"They are right to be frightened." Morrigan frowned, eyeing the terrified populace with a hint of dislike. "The horde is no more than three days behind us. Nothing stands between it and this village. Soon, there will be no one left here, save the Blighted and the dead."

The panic around them seemed to thicken instantly. Alistair glared at the witch, stepping closer to avoid being overheard. "A little louder next time. I don't think they heard you in _Denerim_."

"I see no reason to dissuade them of the severity of their situation."

"Of course you don't."

Elissa was no longer paying attention to either of them, her eyes eagerly scanning the crowd. Without a word, she grabbed Alistair by the hand and dragged him along as she pushed her way through the masses, trying to get a better view. Just off of the main path, she came upon a railed fence and quickly scrambled up on the lower rung, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Alistair watched her for a moment before it seemed to dawn on him what she was doing. "Looking for someone?"

She damn well wasn't going to be apologetic about it. "I had hoped Fergus would be here. It seems the most logical place for him to go."

Morrigan and Alistair exchanged a look. She knew it sounded hopeless, but she didn't care. Alistair sighed, but he nodded, willing to indulge her for the time being. "Your best bet would be to check the inn. They would have seen almost everyone that came through here."

Morrigan shrugged. "If he was in the Wilds when the army fell, he is probably dead."

Alistair immediately whirled on her, anger and disbelief written all over his face. "Oh, very nice. Maybe you'd like to kick her in the head while you're at it?"

"You would prefer that I comfort her with lies?"

"I would _prefer _that the next time you have something to say—don't."

"Stop it!" The raw fear in the air was catching; she could practically taste it. Every nerve in Elissa's body was on edge, making her short-tempered. She hopped down from her perch and glared at both of them, her hands set on her hips. "I'm not an idiot, you realize. I _know _Fergus probably isn't here. I know that he probably didn't make it out of Ostagar. But I have to _look_. I have to know. He's my brother. Is that so hard for you to understand?" They both remained silent, and she took a deep breath. "We need to find shelter for the night. And food, or we're all going to end up killing each other. Alistair, do you have any coin on you at all?"

"Only a copper or two," he said, digging through his pockets. "But it should be enough to buy bread, at least, provided we can find anyone with enough to sell us."

"I have a silver piece that was in my pocket. We'll have to make it stretch. The inn is as good a place to start as any."

Morrigan was quiet for a long time. Finally, she looked up. "If your brother survived, he is most likely already heading north, where he believes you to be." She frowned, bewildered at the notion of offering comfort when it was so impractical. Her voice sharpened. "Either you will find him or you will not. 'Tis foolish to linger here for long. Find your supplies, and then we must move on."

… …

The inn was just as crowded as the streets had been. People milled in droves in the common room, asking for shelter, begging for supplies, or simply idling away the bar getting as drunk as possible before their doom caught up to them.

Still, if she had hoped to blend in and lose herself in the crowd, that notion was shattered the moment they stepped inside. Within seconds, a group of men gestured towards them and got up to start in their direction, their expressions anything but friendly.

"Loghain's men," Alistair whispered in warning over her shoulder. Through the Taint, she could feel the rage humming through him, and unease prickled along her spine. "This can't be good."

"Just let me try to get us out of this before you start hacking away at them," she whispered back. He grimaced, but caught her meaningful look at the people around them, and grudgingly took his hand away from his sword hilt. Elissa did her best to look nervous—not difficult, considering the circumstances—as the men approached.

"Well, well, we were just asking about a woman of your description. No one claimed to have seen anything. That'll cost them, I think." The man crossed his arms over his chest, a look of pure disgust marring his features. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Warden."

"You're mistaken." She summoned as much confused innocence as she could muster. "We're refugees from Dale."

He laughed nastily, his eyes roaming over her figure in a leer he didn't even try to disguise. She felt Alistair's fury leap up a notch. "You don't blend in very well, wench. Do you expect me to believe there are two of you in these parts?"

Elissa hid her own urge to bloody him up and feigned panic, edging nearer to the door, giving herself enough room to draw her weapons if she needed to. "Please. My brother and I are just trying to reach Highever before the horde comes."

The room had gone unnaturally quiet, everyone now watching the confrontation between the armed participants as they tried to press into the walls, attempting to stay clear of the reach of a sword. Elissa inched a bit closer to the door.

"Gentlemen." All of them started when a woman dressed in a Chantry robe broke away from the crowd, holding her hands out in a placating motion. She spoke with a charmingly soft accent that Elissa immediately recognized as Orlesian. "Surely there's no need for violence? Many have come through Lothering to find shelter. What would Teyrn Loghain do if he knew you harmed people who had nothing to do with those you seek? And in front of all these witnesses?"

_Not much_, Elissa thought, but the Chantry sister's logic was enough to give the men pause. The large, burly man who appeared to be the spokesman of the four hesitated, teetering on the edge of believing her. Then suddenly, his eyes narrowed on something over Elissa's shoulder. The tension was back, rolling over them like a blanket, and Elissa automatically rested her hand on her sword hilt. "And your 'brother?'" he asked, gesturing sharply at Alistair's shield, which bore the Warden's griffon rampant. "I suppose he just found that herald somewhere, did he?"

"Nooo…." Alistair said with a glance at the device. "I got it… well, what happened…" his voice trailed off and, with a sigh, he offered Elissa an apologetic shrug. "You know what? I've got nothing."

Before they could react, he swung his shield arm around, slamming the questioner in the face and drawing his sword. The common room erupted into screaming. Elissa barely had time to get her swords in her hands before one of the men was swinging at her with a blade nearly as tall as she was. She just managed to parry the attack, the brute strength behind the blow jarring through her on impact, sending an unpleasant tingle up her arm. She recovered quickly and struck out with her second weapon, slicing at his middle to force him back, well aware of how short a time she would be able to withstand his heavy swings. The movement revealed yet another man coming in on her left, and before Elissa could fall back into a more defensive stance, the Chantry sister was moving, drawing a short blade from somewhere in her robes to parry his swing. Elissa didn't have time to wonder about the oddity of that, concentrating more on trying to find footing in the cramped space at the same time she attempted to move the fight away from the people. "Alistair!" she yelled, ducking a vicious swing angled at her neck. "Take it outside!"

He nodded to indicate he understood. Seconds later, the leader of the group flew past her, crashed through the door, and tumbled down the steps into the street.

_Effective_, she thought dryly as she moved to follow, diving through the demolished portal. She rolled to her feet, greeting the first of the men that followed with a kick to his groin. He dropped with a groan at the same time she raised her swords to block a downward swing from his companion. An arrow skimmed Elissa's leg, leaving a burning pain in its wake. She stumbled only for a moment, long enough for her attacker to try to gain the upper hand, closing in on her with his wicked blade. Elissa staggered back, but at that moment, she saw Morrigan in the doorway behind him, clearly out of patience with this demonstration. At the warning look in her golden eyes, Elissa and Alistair simultaneously dove in opposite directions seconds before a burst of flame seared the air. Their instigators roared in pain, frantically trying to put out their smoldering clothing. The Chantry sister took advantage of the distraction to fall on the archer with a skill that belied the robe she wore. Her dagger flashed in the sun as it cut cleanly through his bow string before her elbow slammed into his face, instantly dropping him where he stood.

The leader fought to his knees, leaving his weapons on the ground where they had fallen. "Stop," he gasped, blood spilling into his eyes from a wide gash across his forehead. "Please."

Alistair looked inclined to kill him anyway, but to her surprise, he stayed his hand, instead curling his fist in the man's shirt. "You take a message back to Loghain. The Grey Wardens know what really happened. We're coming for him." He shoved him back.

The man only blinked at first, caught unprepared by the unexpected reprieve. The words finally seemed to sink in and he scrambled back, practically crawling in his haste to get away. His companions took the opportunity and ran. "I will. I'll tell him." He got to his feet and fled.

"Cowardly filth," Alistair muttered in disgust. "I hope they soiled themselves."

Elissa grimaced when the adrenaline began to ebb, bringing the stinging pain in her leg closer to the surface. She reached down to check the wound. It was bleeding freely, but closer examination revealed that the arrow's tip had barely grazed the outside of her right thigh. It left a deep slice, but no real damage. Annoyed, she stepped up until she was right in Alistair's face, ignoring the height difference in her anger. "You flashed that device on purpose!"

He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at her. "And I feel just awful about it, too."

"Very brave, considering you were _standing behind me_."

He looked slightly abashed at the glaring flaw in his plan, but his eyes narrowed on her, anyway. "I had your back. Do you really think I'd let you get hurt just for the chance to beat some sense into them?"

"Obviously." Morrigan calmly gestured to the clear trickle of blood staining Elissa's pant leg.

"I don't know _what _to think, the way you've been acting lately!" A nagging voice in the back of Elissa's mind—one that sounded suspiciously like her mother's—pointed out that she was standing in a crowded street, yelling at him like some kind of fishwife, but she didn't care. She was tired and aching and now hurt as well, and her temper was well past the boiling point. "You're so wrapped up in your own fury I don't know what to say to you, and you refuse to talk. Now you pick a fight in a room filled with unarmed refugees! How am I supposed to know you had a single thought in your mind other than your own vengeance?"

Alistair didn't answer, but his eyes dropped in shame. They were starting to gather a crowd, the wretched masses enjoying a shift in drama, no matter how slight. A general seething glare from Elissa made most of them appear abruptly busy with other tasks in the area. She forced herself to take a deep breath and turned to the Chantry sister, who stood nearby, watching the entire exchange with a faint smile of amusement. "Thank you for your help, Sister…?"

"Leliana," she said, her smile brightening marginally. She was very pretty, Elissa thought, with red-gold hair that brushed her shoulders and bright blue eyes. "And in your friend's defense, he was covering you until you regained your footing."

Elissa glanced at Alistair, but didn't comment, still too frustrated with him to say anything conciliatory. Instead, she asked Leliana, "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Leliana laughed, a light, pleasant sound that reminded Elissa of music. "I was not born in the Chantry."

Which didn't really answer the question, but Elissa wasn't going to push the issue. "Well, thank you, anyway."

"He was right, was he not? You are Grey Wardens."

Elissa and Alistair shared a look before she nodded slowly. "We are. Though it doesn't seem to make us very popular these days."

Leliana nodded and bit at her full bottom lip, her eyes troubled. "I can explain that." She gestured to a notice nailed to the wall of the inn. "They went up yesterday."

_By order of Ser Loghain Mac Tir, Regent to the Crown_

_Citizens of Ferelden are called upon to aid in the arrest of any surviving Grey Wardens for the treachery at Ostagar. Anyone found harboring Grey Wardens will be tried for treason._

Elissa rubbed her eyes, hoping she had misunderstood, but it was still there, written in the thin, spiky script of the Chantry. With a sound of fury, Alistair ripped the notice down and crumpled it in his hands. "That filthy, murdering bastard! I'll kill him!"

"Lothering has troubles enough of its own. We have not the time to worry about Loghain or arresting the only people left who can stop the Blight." Leliana's soft explanation seemed to cool Alistair's temper considerably. "And you just rid them of men who have been extorting them for coin in the teyrn's name for days. Yet, I should warn you, there is a price on your head, and these are desperate times. It seems you are in need of help. I have been waiting for you to come here."

Elissa eyed her warily. "How did you know we would?"

"The Maker told me. He sent me here to find you."

There were several tense moments in which Elissa struggled find a proper response to that, broken by Alistair's muttered, "More crazy? I thought we were all filled up."

Elissa went with a more diplomatic approach. "Could you… elaborate?"

Leliana blushed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know that must sound completely insane. But I had a dream—a vision! The Maker wants me to aid you in stopping this Blight. Please, let me help you."

"Sister." Alistair sounded calmer than he had been, touched by the woman's concern. "You help us, and that price will be on your head, as well."

"He's right," Elissa said. "Our road is dangerous enough as it is, and now it looks like we'll have to deal with the authorities, as well. You would better serving the Maker by helping these people."

"There are many to ease the suffering in Lothering. The Chantry works night and day to offer all they can. How many are willing to take up your cause?"

"We have no need for assistance from the Chantry, sane or otherwise," Morrigan said, and then dismissed Leliana from her mind, turning to Elissa. "Were I you, I would leave this place. The templars will be along shortly to see what caused this uproar."

"Actually, I was thinking we might check the Chanter's board." Alistair rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There's usually mercenary work posted there. I'll bet we can earn a few sovereigns without letting anyone at the Chantry know who we are."

Elissa nodded, idly rubbing her stomach. "We'll go there, then, _after _finding food. Ye gods, I don't think I've ever been this hungry."

"There's another merchant by the Chantry who looked to be fairy well-stocked. I'll admit, I've never had to deal with this appetite without a full cart of provisions nearby. It's less amusing now."

"Wait!" Leliana stepped forward as they turned away. "Please, let me come with you."

"I'm sorry, Sister," Elissa said, her voice soft, but firm. "But apparently, we work alone. There's no other way—not with Loghain holding the throne."

… …

The blow nearly knocked the wind out of Elissa, but she had no time to recover before the giant spider was upon her, overwhelming her with spiny legs that tore flesh and pincers that dripped venom. Elissa gripped her dagger and stabbed upward, cringing at the thick, white liquid that gushed from the wound and rained down on her. Gritting her teeth, she stabbed again, and with a screechy hiss of pain, the spider released her. She rolled to her feet, nursing her injured leg, the wound reopened from the ferocity of the spider's attack.

Alistair ran up beside her, having finished his own kill, and drew the spider's attention, enabling her to leap to the side and plunge both blades into its bulbous, pulsing body. It reared back with a screech before it fell, its hairy legs curling in on itself.

Elissa dropped to her knees, her leg stinging and her stomach rolling. She fought back the urge to vomit, wiping frantically at the pasty mess that covered her. "Ugh. I thought there were only bandits out here." Her voice was quivering, and she fought to steady it. "How did they never notice a nest of giant spiders so close to town?"

Alistair offered her a hand and hauled her to her feet. "I have no idea. You'd think they'd be wondering where all the pets are disappearing to." He glanced up at the sky, which was beginning to soften into a shade of grey and pink over the valley, the evening approaching in a mass of storm clouds. "We'll have to hunt out the rest of the bandits tomorrow. With the town so crowded, it's going to be hard enough to find shelter from that storm. We should probably think about making camp. This cave might come in handy."

"Fine," Elissa said, still shaking. "But, I don't want to camp here. Let's move and see what else we can find."

Later, she would recognize it to be an act of madness, but at that moment, all she could think was that she had to get clean. She left Alistair and Morrigan with what coin they had and sent them to town for supplies before she went to the stream, stripping off her chainmail and weapons as she walked. Once there, she threw herself into the water fully clothed. The water was cold enough to make her gasp, but she knelt on the sandy bottom and scrubbed at her clothes and skin with a handful of sand. She also let her hair loose from its braids, leaning back in the shallow water and letting the current wash over her until she was sure all traces of the spider's innards were gone.

Alistair walked up just as she was clambering out. "Here," he said, and tossed a bundle of clothing at her. She caught it and found her soft wool pants and a plain linen shirt that had to be his, judging by the size. "You don't have a change of clothes, remember?"

All she had were the sturdy leather trousers Flemeth had rescued her in and the clothes she had woken up in the hut wearing. She sighed and gave up any hope of trying to retain her dignity, sopping wet and shivering as she was. Not to mention feeling extremely foolish now that she had calmed down.

"Thank you," she muttered, wondering how he wasn't laughing at her.

"You're welcome," he said, just a little too brightly. He seemed determined to look anywhere but at her. Elissa hastily checked herself over, making sure she hadn't embarrassed herself further by exposing herself in some way. She couldn't find anything—her shirt was well made and thick enough that the water hadn't turned it sheer. All of her clothes were still in place.

She glanced back at Alistair, who was still fidgeting nervously and appeared to be blushing. _Maker's breath, just how sheltered was that chantry? _She smiled, amused by his discomfort. "If you'll turn around, I'll change, and then you can stop pretending the grass is so interesting."

"My thanks," he said, blushing harder, and gave her his back. "I wanted to make sure you could make it back on that leg."

She gingerly tested her weight on it, only to feel it trembling. The exertion of the day was quickly catching up to her, making her weaker than usual. "Maybe."

"I'll wait, then."

She started to argue that it wasn't really necessary, but changed her mind with a shrug and started stripping off her clothes.

"So," he said a moment later in a deliberately casual tone, "I, uh, also wanted a chance to talk to you."

"About?"

"Ostagar."

She paused, looking at him, but he still had his back turned, determinedly staring at the ground. "What about it?"

"I… I should have handled it better. Duncan always warned me that something like this could happen. Any one of us could fall in battle. I just never expected it to be all of them." He took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have lost it like that, not when so much is riding on us. Not with the Blight and… and everything. I'm sorry."

She pulled the dry shirt over her head and gathered up the sopping clothes before she stepped in front of him, frowning to herself. "I am, too, for losing my temper with you. You tried so hard to be understanding when I was being… well, you saw it. I haven't been returning the favor very well."

He laughed, ruefully running his fingers through his hair. "And yet you didn't put anyone in danger. You've done nothing but keep us going." He sighed. "I'm trying to be more like you. I'm just not that good at it."

She felt her frown deepen. "I could argue that it's better if you're not. I'm a little prone to temper tantrums, if you haven't noticed." She crossed her arms. "Do you really want to stand here and argue over who's being more childish?"

He smiled, and it was a real smile, rather than the twisted bitterness he'd been displaying of late. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much she'd missed it. "I'll win."

… …

Morrigan left them once they neared the village, stating that she could find her own protection from the storm. Elissa didn't doubt that she could, but she knew that eventually, she would have to try to talk to Morrigan. The witch's strict desire to remain aloof was eventually going to lead to problems, not to mention that fact it was highly inconvenient to be splitting up all the time.

Alistair had claimed he had already found them shelter for the night, but Elissa took one look at the dark doorway of the ancient little windmill and shook her head, backing up a step. "I'm not stepping foot in that thing."

He sighed at her. "It's not the Gnawed Noble, but it's dry, and that storm's going to break any moment now. Just try to ignore all the dirt and cob… webs…" His eyes widened as he suddenly realized what her problem was. Elissa crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in warning. He turned his head away, one hand going to his mouth to try to disguise his smile. It was a useless precaution. The shaking of his shoulders betrayed him.

Elissa glared at his back. "It's not _funny_."

"Oh, yes it is." He was practically choking on his laughter. She saw him take a deep breath, but he was still trying to fight it when he turned back to her. "You can't be serious. You understand you _disemboweled_ a pair of darkspawn just this morning, right? A fully grown ogre, and she charges in without hesitation. Faced with a giant bug, however…"

"A giant spider isn't a bug." She nearly stomped her foot in frustration. "It's a monster."

He only raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, it is! And it's poisonous, and dangerous, and… and what do they need all those legs for, anyway?" He gave up all pretenses and burst into laughter. She sniffed, glowering. "I'm done talking about this. And I'm _not_ going in there."

"Oh, for—give me that lantern." He disappeared into the entrance, still chuckling quietly to himself. Thunder rumbled overhead. Elissa pulled her cloak more tightly around herself, fighting with her own stubborn nature when the first drop of rain splashed on her forehead.

Alistair emerged only a moment later. "Well, it was a life and death struggle for the ages, but I killed the one pathetic little _monster _I found. I don't know how much room there's going to be in there for that beast you call a dog, though."

Aiden whimpered, crowding nearer to her. Elissa sighed and bent down to talk to him, scratching him behind his ears. "You can go stay in the cave, can't you? I think I saw a rabbit or two in that area. Be a good boy and have a nice supper, and wait for us until morning."

He answered her with a happy bark, but Elissa was sure Alistair didn't miss the warning look the mabari gave him before he turned and galloped off towards the edge of the field.

Even without Aiden, the area was too cramped for both of them to lie down without being uncomfortably close, but Alistair solved that problem by huddling in a corner, his back braced against the wall.

Elissa stretched out, her head pillowed on her hand. The dirt floor was softer than the ground in the Wilds. With a decent blanket covering it, it was comfortable enough, had it not been for the wound in her leg. She shifted, trying to ignore it, but she could feel it throbbing. At length, she sighed, deciding it was time to face the grim truth of her situation. "You're a better fighter than I am."

Alistair glanced up, startled. "What? I am not. Have you _seen _you?"

"You don't have to worry about my feelings, you know. You're stronger, more disciplined, faster—"

"I am _not _faster."

"I've watched the way you move. Everything you do has a purpose." She paused, thinking. "I need you to train me."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been watching you, too. Your style is much more fluid and agile than mine. I'd tear a muscle trying to twist around the way you do. You can adjust to anything. I whack people with a shield. I don't see what I could possibly teach you."

Elissa pushed herself to her elbow, studying him. "Have you always thought so little of yourself?"

"Let me think… pretty much, yeah."

She shook her head and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I need your help if we're going to get through this. None of my training has prepared me for this kind of danger."

He leaned his head against the wall, thinking. "I tell you what. I'll do my best to teach you what I can if _you _show me how to do that awesome flippy thing you do when you get knocked down. I've never seen anyone get to their feet so fast."

She laughed. "Deal. I have a vested interest in keeping you alive, too, you know." She lay back down, scooting over as close as she could to the wall. "You don't have to sleep over there, if you don't want to. Just keep your back to me."

She could feel his surprise, but hesitantly, he crawled over to lie down next to her, pulling his own blanket out of his pack and carefully tucking it around him so there was some sort of barrier between them. His voice still came from right over her shoulder when he whispered, "I'm here to stand guard against the lurking monsters that are spiders, right?"

She snorted to disguise her own giggle. "Good _night_, Alistair."

He laughed softly in the dark and rolled over. "Good night, Elissa."


	13. Alistair

**Chapter Thirteen**

_**Alistair**_

.

_It's not who you are that holds you back,_

_it's who you think you're not._

_~Author Unknown_

.

.

The rain had managed to seep its way in through the cracks and crevices, dampening the dirt of the modest shelter with an uncomfortable chill. The edges of the shared blanket beneath them were soaked through and caked with a thin layer of mud. All around, the patter of the intrusive water dripped relentlessly, building patterns and rhythms, only to abandon them a short while later at the whim of an errant breeze. Yet inside the warm curl of blankets, Alistair rested comfortably, allowing himself to drift in and out of sleep in the cool damp of the new morning.

Ordinarily, he would have been awake already, and grumbling loudly about the inherent moodiness of Ferelden weather, but he found that he wasn't in any real hurry to move. He had been exhausted, sapped both physically and emotionally by the toll in the days since Ostagar—a weight of grief that had only recently been lightened by Elissa's unexpected comfort.

Her back was still turned to him, her body curled in a ball to ward off the cold. Her subconscious was just as reserved as her waking mind—careful, even in rest, to keep her distance from him. He had never met anyone quite like her, so adamantly closed off that even through their shared Taint, he could rarely guess at what she was thinking. Yet there was compassion there, as well, buried deep enough that he doubted many people bothered to search for it.

Sometime in the night, they had come to an unspoken agreement to share the blankets they had, scooting closer to each other for warmth. For the first time in his life, Alistair was experiencing the quiet comfort of waking up with someone tucked in beside him, and he couldn't deny that it was nice. And so he dozed through the edge of dawn, caught somewhere between dreams and reality, until the sun kissed the cracks in the worn out old windmill, and he knew himself to be fully awake.

He moved as cautiously as he could as he got up and strapped on his sword belt, determined not to wake up his companion. He was learning that Elissa was a master at putting up a tough exterior, but it was becoming more obvious by the day that she simply wasn't accustomed to exertion of this magnitude. Though the Joining had helped to bolster her stamina, there was only so much it could accomplish in a woman who, until now, had lived an essentially labor-free existence outside of her training. Real strength would only come with time and patience, and he had no intention of seeing her put herself in greater danger by letting her stagger through one of the many battles that seemed determined to find them.

Her monster dog was already waiting when he stepped outside, apparently impatient to be with his mistress. A pile of freshly dug earth testified to the animal's determination to get inside. The moment the door opened, Aiden made a leap for it, but Alistair was a second faster. He shut the door in the dog's face, sniggering to himself when Aiden was unable to stop his forward momentum and smacked into the wood nose-first.

Aiden found it less amusing, growling low in his throat, a row of sharp teeth flashing menacingly. Alistair was well aware of the dangers of getting between a mabari and its master, but he was determined to make his point, and so forced himself not to recoil from the threat. "Calm down, mutt, I'll let you in. But don't you dare wake her up."

The humming growl continued, unbroken, but Alistair noted the teeth became slightly less pronounced.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You think I won't fight you over this? _You're _not the one who has to pick up the slack. _I _am. If I have to deal with dodging Morrigan's wayward magic _and _a worn-out, sloppy Warden, I'll…" It took him a moment to think of a convincing threat to use against a dog. "I'll never open another door for you again."

The growling abruptly stopped, and Aiden looked slightly taken aback, tilting his he considered this new development.

Alistair allowed himself a small smile of victory. "I mean it. You'll be stuck outside with nothing to do but whine and mourn your lack of thumbs. You'd be better off just going along with me on this."

He supposed the grudging huff of breath was an acquiescence of sorts. Nodding, he stepped aside and let the animal through, watching as it immediately flopped down next to Elissa, sniffing her hair as though checking to make sure she hadn't been tampered with. Alistair shook his head and left them alone, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He faced the sun and stretched, wincing. His muscles felt strained and sore from being forced into not one, but four fights the previous day, two of which took place against a particularly vicious group of bandits that had been plaguing the area for some time. There were signs of still more in the area, which meant they would have to seek them out and involve themselves in yet _more _fighting before they could collect their service fees from the Chantry. Just the thought of it made him sigh. Apparently, Elissa wasn't the only one who could stand to be in better shape.

The town in the distance was still quiet, the smell of cooking fires thick in the crisp morning air, making his stomach growl. This problem with not having enough food between the two of them was quickly becoming about as much fun as a sword in the gut. Not that he knew what _that _was like, but it had to be at least a little bit similar to the painful gnawing in his stomach.

He made his way to the stream and stripped off his shirt, kneeling on the bank to make an effort at cleaning himself up while he idly watched for signs of fish.

Even with his wandering thoughts, Alistair kept the threat of bandits in the back of his mind, and so he clearly heard the twig snap behind him. He whirled around, sword already drawn and lifted. It was only Elissa, with her dog gamboling at her side, looking entirely too pleased with itself.

She ducked her head apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Maker's breath, you ought to do me the courtesy of wearing a little bell around your neck or something. I've never met anyone so quiet." He sheathed the sword, noting the dark circles under her eyes as he hastily reached for his shirt and yanked it over his head. "I meant to let you sleep in. You've been exhausted."

She shook her head, though the wide yawn she covered with a delicate hand make the gesture far from convincing. "I'm fine." Alistair bit his tongue to keep from blurting that the more she said that, the less believable it became. "Besides, bandits. We need the coin. I'll sleep when we have time." She wandered off, yawning quietly.

Alistair glared at Aiden, who seemed to be smiling. "There's a special place in the afterlife reserved for betrayers, you know."

Aiden barked at him.

… …

He hit the ground hard, the blow rendering him breathless and leaving him choking on mouthfuls of dust and the coppery taste of blood as he tried to shake off the dizzying effects of a gauntleted fist to his face. The bandit leader was standing over him, lifting his sword for a finishing blow. Alistair scrambled to get his shield in front of him, but just then Aiden sailed over his prone form, ferocious jaws closing around the man's unprotected throat.

He could hear Elissa fighting nearby and tried to force himself to his feet. A light brush of magic whispered across his templar-trained senses, clearing his head and easing the smoldering pain in his face. He staggered to his feet just as an arrow whizzed by him. Alistair ducked behind his shield reflexively, but after a dazed moment, he realized he wasn't the one being shot at. One bandit went down with an arrow through his throat. Another caught one in the chest seconds before Morrigan's ice spell encompassed him.

That quickly, the fight was over.

Elissa seemed to materialize in front of him, her blue eyes creased in concern. She reached out and placed gentle fingers under his chin. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he muttered, instinctively backing away from her touch before he could stop himself. In the six months since he had left the Chantry, Alistair had learned just how thoroughly conditioned he had been to exist without any sign of affection. He was a weapon, deliberately forged and just as ruthlessly put to use. For all their talk of brotherhood, templars didn't touch, unless driven by necessity or discipline. The friendly slaps on the back or handshakes demonstrated by his fellow Wardens, though welcome, had taken a bit of getting used to. Still, his first nature was to recoil when he was feeling vulnerable or out of sorts.

Sighing at himself, he wiped what remained of the blood from his face with the back of his hand, somewhat embarrassed at such a poor showing. "Our witch knows something about healing, it seems. And archery."

"That part wasn't Morrigan." Elissa let her hand drop to gesture towards the source of the arrows. The Orlesian lay sister that had come to their rescue in the tavern was standing beside Morrigan, sliding an unused arrow back into her quiver before she waved merrily at him. Alistair frowned. Great, she was crazy _and _deadly. That wasn't a frightening combination in the slightest.

Leliana was smiling when they approached. She had foregone her Chantry robe in favor skirted leather armor, and a quick glance at her shapely arms and legs told Alistair she was no novice to combat.

Not to mention the dead bandits.

"It seems you needed my help after all," she said with a wink, obviously pleased with herself.

"We had it under control," Alistair said, furtively wiping his face again and hoping he had managed to remove all the evidence of him getting his ass kicked by a common thug.

Leliana rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Please, I have to do something. Let me help you."

Alistair eyed the dead bandits, considering. It certainly couldn't hurt to have an archer on their side, for once. This whole situation where he and Elissa were forced to constantly dodge arrows was getting more than a little tiresome. He looked at Elissa, but she still seemed unconvinced. "I don't think that's—"

"Um, could you excuse us for a second?" Alistair caught Elissa's arm and yanked her aside, dragging her a few feet away where the other two couldn't overhear them. "Maybe we should think about this?"

Her eyes widened. "About taking her with us? It's dangerous. And," she glanced back, leaning in to lower her voice another notch, "she's one darkspawn short of a Blight, Alistair."

He conceded that much. "Well, yeah, but aren't we all? Besides, she seems more like 'pretty colors' crazy than 'I'm going to stab you all in your sleep' crazy."

She sighed, thinking. "She seems to be skilled, but there's the Taint to consider. If she comes with us, she'll be fighting darkspawn. Do you really think it's a good idea?"

The question caught him off guard. He was more accustomed to flat answers or specific orders when he spoke up, not prompts that required him to defend his position. "Well, I guess… it'll be a risk, but she _is_ an archer. We can warn her of the danger and still vague up the details." She seemed to be considering, and he pressed his advantage. "Elissa, she just dropped three bandits on her own, and we're not winning any popularity contests here. We could use the help."

Elissa glanced over at the waiting women, looking Leliana over with a critical eye. Alistair liked the way she chewed at her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, her fingers rubbing distractedly over the pendant that hung around her neck. A thought seemed to occur to her, and she turned back to him, her dark blue eyes hinting at amusement. "Are you sure you don't have… other motivations to take her with us?"

"Huh?" He had a bit of trouble shaking off the appreciative thoughts that were starting to edge their way into his head as he watched Elissa. By the time he caught her meaning, she was laughing softly at him. He scowled at her. The archer was certainly pretty, but… he had been too busy ogling his fellow Warden to really notice.

Probably best to keep that argument to himself.

He rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Do you want to take her along or not?"

She shrugged, still grinning as she went to tell Leliana the news. "Far be it for me to get in the way."

"That's not what I _meant_. Stop laughing."

… …

"This is insane!"

Elissa threw her hands up in exasperation. "I know it is, but we don't have any other choice!"

Alistair was half tempted to hide his shield behind his back, but thought that might be a little childish, even for him. "I'm _not _covering my herald. I'm a Grey Warden."

"Alistair, the device was printed right on the wanted poster. Anyone desperate enough for coin will be coming for our blood. I don't want to be fighting off any more peasants who are armed with nothing better than pitchforks!"

His stomach dropped at the reminder of the ragtag group that had tried to collect the bounty on them earlier that morning. They had managed to run most of them off before it became a full scale slaughter, but a couple of wolves hidden in the flock hadn't ended up as fortunate as the others. He tried to tell himself they attacked first, but still… "Neither do I. But, we shouldn't be disguising who we are. They're acting on the idea that we're responsible for the death of the king. It's more important now than ever that we stand up for the Order, instead of hiding while Loghain drags its name through the mud."

Elissa crossed her arms and took a deep breath, clearly fighting to keep her patience with him. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. When she spoke, her voice was perfectly calm, despite the flash of irritation in her eyes. "I thought our first concern was ending the Blight. If you have a suggestion of how we're supposed to do that from inside a prison cell, I'm more than willing to hear you out."

He opened his mouth to argue, but found he didn't really have a counterpoint. Just his luck, that he would get left behind with a woman so infuriatingly fond of _logic_. He floundered for a moment longer before he all but shoved his shield at her, sulking at the injustice of it all. "You know, you're cranky when you're hungry."

"I'm crankier when I'm being arrested. Consider yourself fortunate." She handed the shield over to Leliana, who waited nearby with paint at the ready.

The woman had brought quite a few supplies with her, not the least of which was her bow. While Leliana painstakingly replaced the griffon on his shield with the herald of Highever, Elissa borrowed the weapon and disappeared into the fields. She returned a short time later, carrying three plump pheasants skewered by arrows.

Alistair's stomach did a small back flip in utter relief. "Would be out of the question to ask you to marry me?"

"Depends on how useful you are," Elissa answered without pause, dropping the birds on the ground beside him.

"Fair enough." He set about cleaning them, watching Elissa as she paced back and forth beside the fire. Evening was setting in, the long shadows of the trees stretching across the small copse they had found to camp in. Morrigan's fire glowed in the distance, though there was no sign of the witch. She never took her meals with them, and often disappeared at the first sign that dusk was falling. Alistair's skin crawled whenever he put the two thoughts together, not really wanting to know where she was getting her sustenance from.

Finally, Elissa flopped to the ground with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. Aiden trotted over and tried to squirm onto her lap. She managed to get him to settle for putting his head on her knee and idly scratched his ears, gazing into the fire.

"Are you okay?" Alistair asked her at length, knowing he was likely to get nothing other than her repeated insistence about being fine.

She surprised him, linking her fingers behind her neck, her head lowered. "Fergus isn't here, is he?"

Weeks of having to push and prod to get the slightest comment from her, and now she went and hit him with a subject he was no way equipped to handle. Alistair couldn't very well tell her that he hadn't exactly been _looking_, since all the evidence pointed to the fact that her brother was dead. She would have to face that eventually, but for now, he certainly wasn't going to be the one to make her.

She apparently didn't expect an answer, though. She heaved a sigh before straightening up. "Tell me how you became a Grey Warden."

That subject wasn't much better. "The same as you," he answered with a shrug. "Drank some blood, choked on it, and passed out. You haven't forgotten already, have you?"

He smiled when Elissa rolled her eyes at the vague response. "I meant _before _that."

He had the unsettling feeling this conversation was going to wander into questions about his childhood he wasn't ready to delve into just yet, but she looked so tired and unhappy, trying to keep her thoughts from dwelling on her missing brother, he heard himself sigh and answer, anyway. "I was living in the Chantry when Duncan recruited me."

"So you said before. I guess I don't understand. Didn't joining the Grey Wardens conflict with your vows to the Chantry?"

"Not really. When Duncan came, the Chantry was more than willing to show off their templars for him. They held a tournament and everything. And besides, I never actually took my final vows. I was knighted as a templar, but I was still considered an initiate. There are several rituals to undergo before becoming a full templar. The initiates have a set of their own, bound to them while they're in training. Vows of secrecy, obedience, chastity—" If Alistair could have reversed time and cut out his own tongue before _that _managed to slip out, he would have jumped on the chance. His horror must have shown on his face, because Elissa raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curving into a hint of a smile. He cleared his throat. "_Anyway_. The final ceremony is the Vigil, where the old vows are released, and a set of new ones are taken as a full templar. I managed to duck that one long enough for the Grey Wardens to rescue me."

She looked over him curiously. "How old are you?"

"How old are _you_?"

"Old enough that I was pushing it, putting off what was expected of me."

He smiled wryly at the quick answer. She was a sharp one. "I'm old enough that it was getting difficult for me, too…"

_… __"You are well past the normal age of taking your vows and becoming a full templar," the Revered Mother said. Alistair fought back the urge to squirm under her unrelenting scrutiny. "Your instructors tell me that you have a fine mind, and your discipline on the training field is quite impressive. Yet you remain insubordinate and willful in all other matters."_

_ He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say here, or if he was supposed to say anything. Keeping his mouth shut seemed like the safest option, so he went with that._

_ "Tell me, have you attended a Harrowing as of yet?"_

_ "No, Revered Mother."_

_ "It's high time that you did. Tomorrow, some of our finest templars will leave for the Circle Tower. You will accompany them. Perhaps if you can see with your own eyes what purpose we serve, you will better understand the importance of what you are…"_

… "I'm sorry." Elissa's voice drew him back from the reverie, and he realized he'd been quiet for some time. "I don't mean to pry."

"It's not you. It's just… you don't _really _want to hear about me being a templar, do you? It's actually quite boring."

She smiled, just the smallest curve of her lips, but enough to light up her eyes. "But that's _why_ it's interesting. You don't act like a templar."

"Oh, you're telling me. I was banished to the kitchens to scour pots more times than I can count. And that's a lot; I can count pretty high. Anyway, the Chantry wasn't my idea. I was sent there when I was ten by the man who fostered me."

"Arl Eamon?"

He frowned. "How did you know that?"

"You mentioned it on the way here."

"Oh." He mentally kicked himself for that lapse, but his brain had been working under even his expectations for it recently. "I lied. I was raised by dogs. Great, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. Surprisingly strict parents they were, too."

She shook her head, but her smile widened a bit. "So this is where you deflect questions with humor?"

"I'd use my shield, but you've gone and taken it away."

"You're not going to talk to me about this, are you?"

"Caught on to that, did you?" He smiled to take any sting from the words.

Elissa didn't seem too offended by the brush off, rewarding him with a quiet laugh as she got to her feet. "Very well. You're safe for now. I'm going to the stream to fetch some water."

"Take Aiden with you," he called after her. The dog scrambled up at the mention of its name, hurrying to follow her into the deepening dark of the valley.

After she had gone, Alistair tried to let his mind wander as he worked, but Elissa had inadvertently focused it on things he would rather forget…

_ ...The mage was a pretty young thing, her cheeks flushed with nerves and her golden hair tousled from being dragged from her sleep. Alistair listened with distaste while First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir explained the ritual to her, neither one outwardly saying what it really was. The young mage would enter the Fade and face a demon summoned by the mages, a creature of pure darkness that sat on the end of the mages' leash only because of the steady amount of prey they provided it with during this test of will that all the mages underwent when they came of age._

_ He watched as the girl lost consciousness, collapsing on the floor amidst the circle of waiting templars. Her eyes were green, he noted, before Irving came forward and closed them for her. As the minutes ticked by, Alistair shifted his weight impatiently, ignoring the stern glance Greagoir gave him for the lack of discipline. He was unable to shake the feeling that he was party, however unwillingly, to a form of torture. _

_ He could see it the instant that she failed, when her lovely eyes flew open and blazed with a power not her own. The templars around him burst into action, doing away with the creature._

_ Irving sighed in regret as the templars cleaned up the unfortunate remains of the abomination, lamenting the loss. Alistair could not clearly hear him. He had fallen to his hands and knees in a corner, retching..._

… He shuddered at the memory and glanced around, eager for anything that would take his mind off of what it had felt like, knowing that he was doomed to that existence, no matter how hard he fought against it. All of his rebelling and antics had accomplished nothing. They would never let him go, doling out punishment for his behavior over and over until they had finally broken him.

Duncan was the one who had saved him from that; he had torn him out of a life that had become so numb Alistair hadn't even been able to feel just how miserable he really was. It took weeks after joining the Grey Wardens before he saw the depression he had been living in for years.

But now Duncan was gone.

He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

He was startled to feel the soft brush of someone beside him and nearly jumped out of his skin. Leliana joined him by the fire, moving just as silently as Elissa. "You are very quiet, all of a sudden."

"Who, me?" He forced out a smile, dousing the memories and shoving them back to a hidden place where Leliana would never see them. "Well, you know how it is, being raised by dogs and all that. Not the greatest conversationalists in the world. Surprisingly good cooks, though."

… …

Alistair leaned against the stone railing of the tiny bridge, sharpening his dagger while Elissa talked to the lost child. Occasionally, a passerby would show a bit too much interest in the ebony-haired Warden with him, but a quick flick of his wrist and the weapon would catch the glare of the sun, flashing in warning, and the observer would go about their business in a hurry. They hadn't been recognized again since venturing back into town this morning, and Alistair intended to keep it that way. Since he was neither blind nor dead, he was well aware that Elissa was strikingly beautiful, and thus more prone to gaining notice than he was. He was keeping a close eye on her, whether or not she knew it. And if the people noticing her were looking only to look, well, a flash of the dagger couldn't hurt there, either.

The habit was familiar enough to him that he could allow his mind to wander, and he paid little attention to what he was doing. Instead, he was watching her. He still knew so little about her, but he knew that the last thing he would have expected was for her to notice one wayward child in the crowds, anxiously watching the roads. She was speaking in a soothing voice, showing a gentler side of herself he had never seen before.

"Men with swords came," the little boy whispered, tears clogging his throat. "Mama told me to run. She was supposed to meet me here, but I can't find her."

There was a flicker of real emotion in Elissa's eyes as she handed over a silver piece, ignoring Morrigan's hiss of disapproval. She pointed out a nearby Chanter, instructing the child to ask him for help. Alistair waited until the boy had run off before abandoning his perch. "The Chantry will see that he's safe until someone comes to claim him."

"No one's coming. You know it as well as I do."

He sighed. "We can't save everyone."

"Right now, I'd be happy with saving _anyone_." Her fingers closed around his, seeking a small measure of comfort. She held them only for a moment before she released him, drawing in a breath. "We better get to the Chantry."

They were interrupted by a startled scream, followed by a flood of words and a nervous giggle. They both turned towards the sound. A crowd was at the end of the road, all pointing at something they couldn't see.

Leliana made a sound of disgust. "Look at them, treating that poor man like he is a part of some sort of display, there for their amusement!"

"What man?"

She looked sad. "A qunari. He is a prisoner of the Chantry. They left him in a cage at the edge of town."

"A qunari?" Morrigan looked startled. "However did the Chantry manage to restrain him?"

"He allowed them to take him. The Revered Mother told me that he killed an entire family with his bare hands, yet he did not fight when the templars came and arrested him." Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Even if what she says is true, they plan to leave him there for the darkspawn. No one deserves such a fate, not even a murderer."

"You say he allowed himself to be taken?" Elissa looked thoughtful.

"Yes. He sits in his cage without complaint, reciting prayers all day and night in a strange tongue."

"I see." Elissa didn't say anything more, but she started walking towards the crowd, which was in the opposite direction of the Chantry.

Alistair was afraid he was beginning to recognize that purposeful set to her shoulders, and shook his head, muttering beneath his breath. "You've got to be kidding me."


	14. When in Rome

**Chapter Fourteen**

_**When **__**in**__** Rome…**_

.

"_You know how some people consider 'may you have an interesting life' to be a curse?"_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Fuck those people. Wanna have an adventure?"_

_~XKCD_

.

.

The qunari paid no more heed to Elissa than he had the gawking crowds as she cautiously approached the suspended cage. The small crowd of onlookers was already dispersing, apparently having realized that the prisoner wasn't going to humor them. Elissa saw Alistair and Morrigan pushing their way through the lot and muttering each other—doubtlessly questioning her sanity and being nasty to each other at the same time.

Elissa was familiar with the reputation of the qunari, and so was wary enough to keep a safe distance while she looked him over. He sat on the floor of his prison, muttering quietly to himself in his strangely melodic tongue. Elissa knew nothing of the language he used, but she recognized a prayer when she heard one. It emboldened her to move close enough for the prisoner to see her.

She had learned something of his people during her many lessons as a child, but they dwelled in a land in the far north and remained largely a mystery to the people of Ferelden. She had never actually seen a member of the fierce race in person before.

It was more than a little intimidating.

Even sitting, it was plain that the qunari was at least seven feet tall, and the seams of his clothing strained against a bulging, muscular physique. His dusky skin contrasted sharply with white hair that was severely braided in neat rows away from his face. He seemed not to notice her at all, his full concentration on the act of meditation, but when she stepped nearer, he spoke in the common tongue perfectly. "I will not amuse you more than I have the other humans." Elissa started at the resonating voice, though the prisoner didn't appear any more aggressive than he had before. He didn't even deign to look her way. "Leave me in peace."

"I'm not looking for amusement," she said, stepping still closer despite Alistair's sputter of protest. "I only wanted to talk to you."

"And would that not be just another form of amusement? There is little to share between strangers, and less of it is worth the effort."

"My name is Elissa." At that, the qunari finally looked at her. She shrugged. "If one of us doesn't choose to introduce themselves, we would only remain strangers. Might I ask for your name?"

He regarded her for a moment, but she could read nothing of his expression. Elissa had never seen anyone in such complete control of themselves. At length, he answered, "You show manners I have not come to expect in these lands. Very well. I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard—of the qunari peoples. Though it matters little, now. I will die soon enough."

"You're a prisoner of the Chantry?"

"I am in their cage, am I not?"

"So you are." She crossed her arms, trying to find some sort of indication that the prisoner showed the slightest remorse for what he was accused of doing. A warrior of his stature would be invaluable in fighting against the darkspawn, and her conscience at subjecting him to the risk of the Taint could be quelled by the knowledge that if she didn't take him, the Chantry intended to leave him to be swallowed by the Blight, anyway. But first she needed a speck of reassurance that he wasn't going to murder them all in their sleep, and he was less than forthcoming with his thoughts. "I understand you didn't fight when the templars came for you."

His eyes finally revealed a flicker of emotion—Elissa thought she caught a hint of shame lurking in their violet depths. "Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret."

"I have my regrets." The words were very quiet, but the confession held the qunari's unnerving gaze like a lure. "My question is what you plan to do with yours. I find myself in need of strong warriors."

"No doubt. I have seen what your country has to offer. What is it you require?"

"We're fighting to bring an end to the Blight."

"The Blight?" She definitely had his interest now. "Are you a Grey Warden, then?" At Elissa's nod, he glanced behind her at her companions, a slight frown marring his brow. "Surprising. Even in the far north, we have heard the legends of their strength and skill. But I suppose not every legend is true."

Morrigan was evidently done holding her silence on the matter. "This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped and left as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone."

Alistair looked stunned, raising an eyebrow at the witch. "Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that from you."

She scowled. "I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage."

Alistair laughed beneath his breath. "Yes, _that's _what I would have expected."

"The Revered Mother might be persuaded to set him free," Leliana said, smiling at the thought of rescuing the qunari. Elissa was beginning to wonder if anything made the bubbly archer _un_happy. "I would be happy to speak to her on your behalf. I am sure she could be made to see reason, with such a sensible alternative."

Elissa turned back to Sten. "It's not my decision. What say you?"

His eyes flicked over each of them before he nodded. "I will follow you, and in doing, earn my atonement. Free me, and you have my word, Warden."

"Then we'll return this evening, when we can leave without drawing undue notice from the villagers, with the Revered Mother's permission or no."

"Very well. For that, you have my thanks."

Alistair managed to hold his tongue until they were out of earshot, but as Elissa started in the direction of the chantry, he couldn't seem to contain himself any longer. "You are, by far, the craziest woman I've ever met in my entire life!" Elissa didn't think that was a very fair assessment, with Leliana in the party, but he seemed to be enjoying his rant too much for her to interrupt him. "You don't just walk up to the cage of an imprisoned qunari and start discussing the weather. You _do _realize he could have reached through those bars and snapped your neck without half trying, don't you?"

She shrugged. "He didn't."

"He didn't murder you outright. What an excellent point. I feel _much _better about taking him along with us now."

Elissa laughed, amused still further when he blinked in surprise at the unexpected response. "Oh, come on, Alistair—where's your sense of adventure? Besides, as long as we're recruiting, it would be silly to pass up a warrior like him."

He sighed and shook his head, but she could see that he was pleased with her decision, despite his protests. "Fine, fine. But if we have to squeeze him into that windmill, _you _get to be the little spoon."

… …

The prayer candles were lit all around them, and most of the people entering the chantry paused at the entrance to run their fingers briefly through the sacred flame in symbolic cleansing. Elissa wasn't overly surprised to see Alistair do the same. She was beginning to understand that his dislike of the Chantry had almost nothing to do with its precepts and everything to do with being forced to live there.

The sanctuary was crowded with a press of villagers seeking solace in the dark, many on their knees in prayer before the altar as the Chanters murmured through the Chant of Light, offering what comfort they could. Elissa and her group slipped in without notice, taking a seat in the back row while Leliana pushed her way to the front to speak to the Revered Mother.

Elissa viewed the entire scene with a quiet kind of grief gnawing at her stomach. The horde grew closer every day—she and Alistair had both begun to feel the twisted pull of the darkspawn, urging them to finish up their business and get away from this place. Nearly all of those they would be leaving behind in Lothering were people who didn't have the means to escape. It was a harsh, sobering experience, to look out at a sea of faces and realize that they would be dead in a matter of days.

"You're brooding again." Alistair was watching her, having felt the shift in her mood. Between the Taint they shared and this strange situation that had them in each other's constant company, she was quickly learning there weren't going to be a lot of secrets possible between them. Having always been a private person when it came to her emotions, she wasn't sure how she was going to handle that, yet. "They still have time to get away, Elissa."

"I know," she said, but couldn't think of anything else to add to that false assurance.

Alistair was quiet for a moment before he leaned closer. "You ever wonder if that's an accurate likeness of Andraste?" he asked in a whisper, indicating the towering statue at the front of the chantry. "Maybe she was ugly. Maybe she had buck teeth. I mean, really, how do we know?"

Elissa stifled a laugh, earning a disapproving glare from a few of the templars, but Alistair looked pleased with himself, having accomplished what he wanted.

Beside her, Morrigan shifted uncomfortably and turned a frustrated look on both of them. "You both act like children. We are not seeking attention from these plated watchdogs, the last I checked." She had pulled up the hood of her robe, casting her delicate features in shadow, but her yellow eyes gleamed in warning in the candlelight.

A twinge of guilt went through Elissa. She had not considered, in her hurry, just how uncomfortable Morrigan would be coming here. Despite Alistair's ongoing complaints regarding Morrigan's bluntness and unwanted opinions, the witch tended to keep her real concerns to herself more often than not, refusing to bring voice to feelings she would regard as weaknesses. She would never admit to being nervous, even surrounded by templars.

Alistair was less sympathetic. "Oooh, big, scary templars. One of them's looking over here right now. I wonder just which one of us he finds so interest—" His words ended in a grunt when Elissa elbowed him in the ribs. He rubbed his side, shooting her a dirty look. "You know what? You're mean."

They were drawing more than one person's attention. Alistair finally sobered, sitting back with a sigh, but almost immediately, his eyes were drawn towards the alcove along the right side of the building. "Wait. I know that man." Elissa followed his gaze to a knight, hunched over an enormous, dusty tome. Alistair got up, gesturing for her to follow. "He's from Redcliffe. Come with me."

Morrigan chose to remain where she was, watching the surrounding templars warily. "If these fools do not stop glancing this way, I will burn this building to the ground."

"I'm sure _that _won't tick them off." Elissa smiled before moving to follow Alistair. "We won't be here much longer. Let's try to keep fire out of it, if we can."

Morrigan crossed her arms. "I promise nothing."

The knight was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't look up until Alistair spoke. "Ser Donall?"

"Yes?" He glanced up, startled at the interruption. "Ah, yes. How can I be of service to—" He stopped, his eyes widening slightly as recognition lit them. "Alistair? Is that you?" He laughed. "You're alive!"

"So I am, though no thanks to Loghain."

Ser Donall grew immediately serious. "Yes, we heard. Bann Teagan was most distressed to hear of the Grey Wardens' fate at Ostagar, certain you had been with them. Who is this with you?"

"This is Elissa C..." His voice trailed off at her warning look. "Elissa. She's the only other Warden who survived Ostagar. Please, Ser Donall, we need to know what's happening in Redcliffe. Loghain has a price out on both of us. Where does Redcliffe stand?"

The knight glanced around, his voice dropping low enough that Elissa had to lean closer to hear him. "Redcliffe is withholding its forces, despite Loghain's call to arms. His rise to power at the expense of Ferelden's armies has stayed our hand for the moment, and we are not the only ones who doubt his claims. A Landsmeet broke up in an uproar only two days ago. But with Loghain forcing his hand, the bannorn will soon be split into those who support Loghain and those who oppose him. We're facing a civil war, and Redcliffe has troubles of its own." He shifted slightly, again glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Alistair, Arl Eamon has fallen ill."

"He's sick?" Alistair looked stricken by the news. "How... how sick?"

"A strange sleep has overtaken him. We suspect magic may be involved, but there is no proof of such an allegation. Our forces are spread across Ferelden in search of a cure, but I have little hope of finding one. Arlessa Isolde has most of our knights on a quest to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Sheer incredulity made Elissa speak up. "_Now_?"

Ser Donall looked her way. "I will not speak ill of the arlessa, though I can understand your objections. The country is being torn apart, and the darkspawn nibble away at both sides while we hunt for ancient relics. Yet it is the arlessa's will, and thus my order to obey."

"We need Arl Eamon's help," Alistair said, but Elissa didn't miss the stab of dread that went through him at the mention of the arlessa. "Loghain refuses to acknowledge the Blight gathering on Ferelden's border. We need someone with a strong voice in the Landsmeet to unite the bannorn before it's too late."

"So it is a Blight." Ser Donall rubbed his chin. "We heard the rumors, but Loghain was very insistent in his claim that only Cailan's vanity demanded it be so. It's true that Arl Eamon is a popular man, but Teyrn Loghain is a hero throughout Ferelden. Crossing him will not be easy." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, looking like a man who hadn't slept properly in some time. "All the same, it seems clear that I should return to Redcliffe. Maker be with you, Alistair, and your companion—I hope to find you both in Redcliffe in good health very soon."

They were silent while the knight took his leave, absorbing the news he had given them. Elissa was furious. Loghain had sabotaged Ferelden's greatest hope against the Blight. Arlessa Isolde had one of the few whole armies that remained searching for myths and legends. What was wrong with the leaders of the country, that they could destroy every flicker of hope with their pride and their whims, chasing flights of fancy like children chasing butterflies?

"Um, Elissa?" Alistair looked nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I know that I can't promise the men I had hoped when I mentioned we should go to Redcliffe, but, the arl could still prove valuable. If Isolde is serving as regent in his absence, we may be able to speak to her."

"We'll still go to Redcliffe," she answered, aware of the relief that washed over him. "I wasn't mad at you, Alistair—I'm just finding myself out of patience for the so-called nobility these days. But if you want to do something, just say so. You don't have to dig around for ways to convince me. Were I you, I'd be eager to see what was happening for myself, as well."

"Well, that's a relief, because I wasn't really sure how to I was going to explain myself once you actually got to Redcliffe and realized Isolde hates my guts." He gave her a crooked smile. "_You_ might try talking to her, though. She's not an altogether unreasonable woman, in most respects."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why would she hate you?"

"Um, that's kind of a long story, and one best saved for another time. Come on. Leliana seems to have gotten the key, and I think we'd better get Morrigan out of here as soon as possible."

… …

The sun was high, and the warmth of the spring afternoon beating down on the makeshift camp nestled in the fields around Lothering. They had decided to set up early, simply killing time until they could sneak back into town and release Sten without crowds of villagers being aware of what they were doing. The smell of roasting meat filled the air as Leliana tended to supper. She seemed perfectly at ease in a camp setting, despite her visibly soft skin and neatly manicured hands, and had taken over the habit of cooking, appalled at Elissa and Alistair's lack of skill at that particular chore. She glanced at them often as she worked, smiling to herself. A moist, cool breeze that promised the coming of another rainstorm played with the fiery locks of her hair while she enjoyed the show Alistair and Elissa provided.

Alistair had decided that now was as good a time as any to start the lessons he had promised Elissa, goading her until she took him up on the offer to train, despite her hunger. The sound of swordplay now shattered the quiet of the valley. Elissa flinched when the flat of a blade met her back, not from pain, but embarrassment. Sparring against Alistair was quickly revealing just how much Ser Gilmore had yet to teach her before he was taken away.

Alistair was nothing but patient, though, and more helpful in his instruction than she suspected he realized. "You're overextending. Here." He stepped behind her, slipping his arms around her to cover her hands with his own. "Go through that last move again, slowly."

She did as he asked, feeling awkward and unsure as he followed her motion. Alistair stopped her in mid-swing, his hand dropping to her hip to demonstrate how her waist had twisted with the movement. "There. You see? You're off-balance, and exposing a clean shot at your back that you can't compensate quickly enough to defend." He dropped his arms and moved away. "Your speed is your strength. You need to be using it to its fullest advantage. Closer quarters would work better with your style."

Elissa felt her eyes widen. "I can't! In closer quarters my second weapon becomes too cumbersome, and I'm not trained to fight single-handed like you. I'd end up throwing out an empty hand out and losing an arm."

"Well, no one's suggesting you start at the beginning." He thought for a moment before drawing the dagger at his belt. "Here. Try this."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "That's not much better than using my hand."

"Sure it is. You're mostly using your main hand to defend anyway. Daggers are perfectly acceptable striking weapons."

"Do you have any idea how long I had to train before I could use two swords? _You _try standing out in the broiling sun lunging at straw men over and over while some knight sits in the shade and tells you what to do until you're ready to tear your hair out."

He laughed. "I _have_."

"Oh." She cringed. Of course Alistair didn't just spring up from the ground knowing how to fight. "I sound horribly bratty right now, don't I?"

He laughed again and held up his hand, his index and thumb positioned a short distance away from each other. "Little bit."

"Did I mention it was possible I'll be a horrible student?"

"Strange thing, I kind of expected as much." He twirled his sword in his hand with an easy expertise that she envied and took up his previous stance. "Come on. Again."

… …

The next morning, Alistair was lounging against the railing of the bridge, waiting for the women to get back from collecting their earnings when the carriage arrived. It caused quite a stir in the dusty little town, of fine make and rolling almost casually in, devoid of the stink of desperation that plagued the rest of the refugees. The girls that occupied it were clearly nobles, dressed well and laughing brightly, shoving the despair of Lothering down the throats of its inhabitants with their fine gowns and carts of supplies.

Alistair spotted his own companions in the crowd that gathered at the unusual sight. Though the girls seemed not to notice, chattering brightly as they climbed down, armed men took up positions around the cart, weapons drawn and ready in case of trouble. Alistair had a briefly uncharitable thought that they'd be better off tossing the girls back up and getting out of there _now_, given the dark muttering that was occurring around them.

Then one of them spotted Alistair.

She giggled behind her hand in a courtly gesture and whispered to her friends, who all looked in his direction and mimicked her. Alistair's self-consciousness prickled uncomfortably. He automatically glanced down to make sure he wasn't standing in dog poo or some such, but he could find nothing wrong.

Morrigan, Leliana, and Elissa all exchanged a look full of hidden, suspicious meaning and started back to him, looking for too determined for his liking. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he suspected it wasn't going to go well for him. "What?"

"Alistair, could you go over and talk to them for just a moment?" Elissa asked, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"Just... talk to them. Ask for directions or something."

"But we already know where—"

"Oh, for the love of all that's wild!" He thought it unfair that Morrigan couldn't seem to address him directly without snapping. Or glowering. "You are the _diversion_, you fool. Go and let the silly things gawk at you while Elissa makes off with their coin pouch. Honestly!"

"_What_?"

"Shh! They're still looking at you!" Elissa glanced over to make sure the girls hadn't noticed his outburst before she took up that quiet, wheedling tone she sometimes used against him when they were arguing over something—the one that almost always ended with her getting her way. "Alistair, we've got a total of five sovereigns and a group of six to get to Redcliffe, counting Aiden. We need coin, and food, and blankets and tents and all kinds of supplies."

"And how are we going to cart all that stuff around? We can't very well ask the darkspawn to pretty please wait for us to get the packs off our backs before they try to tear us limb from limb."

That seemed to bring her up short, but only for a moment. She shook her head, waving the argument off. "I'll figure out something. But right now, _go_."

She shoved him before he could realize what she was doing and brace himself, sending him stumbling in the girls' direction. With a sigh, he gritted his teeth, being sure to throw a dirty look at Elissa before he started forward.

_ Necessity,_ he reminded himself forcefully. He and Elissa were the only people in Ferelden who could call in the treaties and stop the Blight, and they didn't have anywhere close to enough coin to get to Redcliffe. It wasn't like they were leaving these girls stranded. They had more than enough to spare. And he wasn't actually _stealing_ from them—just making it possible for Elissa to.

_ I'm going to the Void_. "Um, excuse me..."

… …

They both felt the blackening pull of the Taint when they reached the road that led out of Lothering. Alistair and Elissa started forward, and then hastened to a run when they heard a hoarse voice crying out for help from beneath the sickly, guttural laughter of the darkspawn. A dwarven merchant was stranded in the road, he and a younger dwarf hiding behind his cart while the monsters closed in on them. Both dwarves were in danger of being trampled by their own panicked horse, which pulled and reared and screamed in fright.

The Grey Wardens ran in without hesitation, leaving the others to follow. The darkspawn felt their approach and left the dwarves, two of them getting shot down by Leliana's arrows before they could react. The fight was brief and vicious, days of much-needed rest allowing the party to make short work of the creatures. When the last of them fell, Elissa immediately turned to try to calm the wild horse, all too aware of the danger of such an animal, but Alistair had already quieted the beast. He had a firm grip on the reins, speaking nonsense in a slow, soothing tone while the horse trembled beneath his gentle touch.

Elissa stepped up cautiously, not wanting to cause another panic. "I didn't know you knew how to do that," she said, keeping her voice deliberately soft. It seemed very little that Alistair did these days failed to impress her.

He raised an eyebrow at her, amused. "I was raised in a _stable_."

"Oh. Right." She turned towards the dwarves, who still cringed behind the cart, apparently wary of coming out of their hiding place just yet. "It's all right. They're dead."

The elder dwarf scrambled to his feet, shaking her hand so roughly it jostled through her chainmail. "Many thanks, my lady. You and your friends arrived just in the nick of time. Horrid beasts."

Elissa smiled. "You're quite welcome, but I would suggest you move on from this area. These are the first of a larger horde."

"So say the rumors. Allow me to introduce myself. Bodahn Feddic, at your service. This is my boy. Say hello to the nice lady, boy."

"Hello, nice lady," the younger said promptly. He was smiling in a bemused fashion, his wide blue eyes regarding them all curiously, without a hint of fear in them.

"If you have need of anything, please, let me know."

"You're a merchant?" Elissa asked. "You wouldn't happen to know of a decent horse trader, would you?"

Bodhan's smile faltered somewhat. "None outside of Highever, my lady. The stock's all been bought up by the nobility, readying for civil war. Not a decent horse to be found in all of Ferelden, unless you have a king's ransom at your disposal."

"I feared as much." She turned to Alistair and shrugged. "Well, it was worth a thought, anyway. I guess we're stuck on foot."

"Just as well."

The dwarf stepped forward. "Where are you heading, if I might be so bold?"

"Everywhere," Alistair answered, and Elissa nodded slowly.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, you see, my lady, a merchant could make a name for himself right now, provided he was able to reach the places that need reaching. Roads are dangerous, with the darkspawn roaming, and many of my guild have given up and headed for Denerim. But with the proper protection… well! Plenty in need of supplies in these dark times, and why shouldn't Bodahn be the one who provides them?"

Elissa and Alistair exchanged a puzzled glance. "Are you really asking to come with us?"

"To each other's mutual benefit, of course. In exchange for you and your friends doing what you can to keep me and my boy alive, I'll give you free use of my cart to carry your supplies, and a sizable discount to any of my wares."

"Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?" Alistair asked.

"Ah, but what are any of us really getting into? It's time for a man to reflect on who he is, I say. And what I am is a merchant."

"And we're Grey Wardens," Elissa said. "Loghain's put a price on our head. I'd think about this, were I you."

"I see." Bodahn did appear to think, if only for a moment. "King Cailan was a good sort, decent to a man of my trade and to Orzammar in general. And now Loghain struts about wearing his crown and claiming that the Grey Wardens killed him. Never one for politics, me, which is why I left Orzammar in the first place, but it doesn't take a lot to wonder why all the Grey Wardens died and Loghain and his army survived, now does it? If you're open to my offer, it still stands."

Elissa couldn't pass up an opportunity that would allow them to travel more easily, though her fellow Grey Warden looked unsure still. She grinned at him, nearly bouncing in place in her excitement that things finally seemed to be going their way. "Alistaaaiir..."

He sighed and crossed his arms, but he couldn't quite hide his smile from her. "You're insane. We've covered that, right?" He shook his head and shrugged. "Don't look at me. You're in charge. Pick up all the extras you like. I'm just here to serve as a passable distraction and kill the occasional spider."

… …

The evening was falling, calm and cool and mercifully free of rain. They walked on slowly, the sound of the occasional night bird and creaking of the cart nearly hypnotic in the gentle dusk. Elissa was considering calling a halt for the night when they reached the top of the hill they were climbing, feeling peaceful and sleepy.

"Maker's blood, what's _that_?"

Alistair's voice startled her out of her drowsy state, making her jump. He had stopped in his tracks, looking out at the landscape behind them. Just over the reach of the trees, an eerie red glow lit the darkening sky, flashing angrily above the treetops against the horizon. For a moment Elissa could only stare, trying to decipher what it was she was seeing, but suddenly Leliana gave an agonized sob, covering her hand with her mouth.

"Maker, have mercy on us. It's... it's Lothering."

For a long time, they stared in silent horror, imagining the destruction they had left behind them.

Alistair was the one to break the silence. "Come on, we've got to keep moving. Elissa and I can take the rear guard and watch for stragglers—the rest of you move as quickly as you can. We've got to put some more distance between us and the horde before nightfall."

Leliana was weeping too hard to answer. Without a word, Alistair scooped her off her feet and set her in the cart. "Let's go."

Despite his brusque demeanor, he put his arm around Elissa's shoulders as they fell to the back of the group, offering his silent support as the black smoke stained the violet sky.


	15. Nightmares

**Chapter Fifteen**

_**Nightmares**_

.

_I feel just like I'm sinking_

_and I claw for solid ground_

_Pulled down by the undertow_

_I never thought I could feel so low_

_And oh, darkness, I feel like letting go_

_~ Sarah McLachlan_

.

.

The dragon soared over the crevasse, the light of thousands of torches gleaming against its scales, casting a glow around the beast that gave the reptilian skin an illusion of spectral glory. The darkness above the sea of flame was cold and absolute—a suffocating crush of utter black that made it difficult to breathe. All around her, the darkspawn raised their voices in homage to the beast, wordless cries lifted in what sounded like their own version of twisted joy at the sight.

Elissa was pulled in, the Taint thick and swirling in her veins, pulsing in rhythm that filled her with a strange, terrifying longing she couldn't fully identify. The Archdemon roared, and the song continued to hum through her, sweet and intoxicating. As she hovered on the brink of understanding, she could almost distinguish the words—a plea.

_ Come... come to..._

"Liss, wake up."

She sat up with a jolt, her skin dampened with sweat that clutched her hair at the temples, her breath heaving with fear. Alistair jumped back marginally, his hands raised in a calming gesture. "Easy. It's okay—you were just having a nightmare."

She shivered, trying to rid herself of the dream. It clung to the edges of her mind like blackened filth, haunting her blood with the sorrowful tune that had beckoned her. In the state between wakefulness and dreams, she could still hear it in the slow rhythm of Alistair's heartbeat, the Taint that coursed through him calling, summoning...

"Elissa," he said more sharply, giving her a little shake. "Snap out of it. Concentrate."

The feel of his hand on her shoulder was what she needed to ground her in reality, and with a force of will, she shook off the dream, shuddering all over. She felt dirty. "I'm sorry. It seemed so real."

"Well, it was real, sort of." He crossed his legs to sit down next to her. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them. The Archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

She studied him, the soft light of dawn playing over his features, and realized what he was saying. "You had the same one?"

He nodded slowly. "We all do—or did, rather. The song calls to us like it does to them, but we have the power to fight it off." He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the ground. "I was able to wake myself up, but I... heard you."

He wasn't talking about her thrashing around in her sleep, but the song; this incessant tug of blood calling to blood whenever he was near.

Maker, what had Duncan turned her into?

She curled in a ball, trying to shake off the horrifying discovery that she had put her own humanity at risk for the sake of a promise. The Taint was still thrumming too loudly for her to think clearly, but the effects of the nightmare were slowly beginning to diminish, disappearing with the morning light that graced the crowded campsite. Everyone else was still fast asleep.

"It takes a bit, but you learn to block the dreams out." Alistair looked inexplicably guilty. Like Duncan and his wretched secrets were somehow his fault. Elissa didn't hold it against Alistair—but if their commander were still here, she couldn't promise she wouldn't have railed at _him_.

She clutched her hands beneath her upraised knees, trying to hide the way they shook. "Thank you for waking me up."

Alistair sighed, having caught the action. "It's okay, you know. It was scary for me at first, too. I screamed like a girl. Duncan told me later he thought I had one in my room. Not at all embarrassing." He smiled at her soft laugh and shoved himself to his feet, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Anyway, you're up now, right? We should probably get a move on."

For the first time, Elissa realized he must have jumped straight from his blankets to wake her. He was wearing nothing more than trousers, giving her a full view of the build she had only caught a glimpse of the morning beside the stream. She quickly averted her eyes to keep from gaping at the sight of bare skin and lean, hard muscle across his chest and stomach, though she did sneak another peek after he had turned away and moved back to his own blankets to yank a shirt over his head.

She bit back a sigh of pure feminine disappointment. Considering what they had to accomplish together, Alistair was the last person she should allow herself to feel any attraction to. But she didn't remember anything about her former suitors that had looked like _that_.

… …

The field was crowded with refugees sheltering under tents and blankets while peddlers took advantage of the unexpected crowd and moved among them, trying to hawk their wares. It was still afternoon, but Elissa saw the looks of longing on her companions faces at the sight, more than one pair of eyes darting her way, as though hoping she would call for a halt. The location would certainly have been ideal. The field spread at the foot of a cliff, bordered on the eastern edge by the forest. The river cut through the trees, providing a fresh water supply, as well. She dropped back beside Alistair, who lingered behind the rest of the group, keeping a careful watch for approaching bands of darkspawn. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

She gave him a look of mock exasperation. "About the fact that I might have a mutiny on my hands if I push us to keep going much longer."

He laughed beneath his breath. "Oh, _that_." He winced, his hand going to his injured arm. With the darkspawn so close behind them, the past two days had been a whirlwind of chaos and surprise attacks. They had barely slept at all, pushing to stay ahead of the horde. Though none of the injuries they sustained were serious, they were numerous, sapping the strength and spirit of everyone until they trudged on in complete silence, too weary to even snap at each other.

There was no use denying it. They were limping for the shelter of Redcliffe, as fast as they could.

"I haven't felt anything since yesterday afternoon," Alistair answered, careful to keep his voice too low for the others to hear. "What about you?"

"Longer. I think the horde moved on in another direction."

"That's not exactly a _comforting_ thought, you realize."

"But it still means they're not behind us anymore. If we can't sense them, they can't sense us."

He glanced at the people ahead of them. Leliana's head was hanging—Morrigan seemed to be leaning on her staff more than usual. In fact, the only one who seemed to be in high spirits was Bodahn, who whistled happily as he studied the shiftless gathering of people in the distance.

Alistair shrugged. "We could certainly use a half a day's rest, but Redcliffe isn't much further. If we keep on until dark, we might reach it tomorrow."

"Not worth it. Oy!" Elissa called. "Pull it over! We're camping here."

The sigh of relief was audible from everyone but Sten, who frowned. "There are many hours yet until nightfall. Is this delay needful?"

"Yes," Elissa answered while Alistair jogged ahead to help Bodahn with the cart. She crossed her arms, examining the qunari with a critical eye. "You were in that cage for weeks, and we've barely had time to breathe since we left Lothering. Are you all right?"

"You are concerned." Elissa thought there may have been a note of surprise there, but with Sten, it was nearly impossible to tell. "No need. I am fit enough to fight."

"As you've already proven more than once. But, frankly, if you collapse on the road, no one here's going to carry you. Indulge me."

He grunted in disapproval, but moved off into the field with the others.

They chose a site to camp well away from the other people, at the edge of the trees. The people in the field watched them curiously, but none dared approach such a heavily armed group of travelers. After camp was set up, Elissa forced herself to stay on her feet long enough to try and cheer her demoralized party while Morrigan did what she could for their injuries, exchanging pleasantries and asking questions until Morrigan finally snapped at her to go take her rest before she had to tend to her, as well.

Too tired to argue, Elissa dug her book out of her pack and flopped down beside Alistair, who was fumbling with a bandage. He had taken a brutal hit the previous morning during their last encounter with the darkspawn. Elissa suspected it was worse than he was letting on, given the amount of blood that soaked the discarded dressing on the ground. With a sigh, she batted his hands out of the way and unraveled what he had already done, raising her eyebrows at the sight of the long, grisly gash that covered the length of his forearm. "Alistair, you should have let me look at this before now."

"I've had worse."

"Uh-huh. And did you leave those untended, as well? Let me fetch my herbs."

Morrigan stopped her on the way back. "'Tis needful for us to replenish our healing herbs. As I have more experience than you in these matters, it is probably best that I go seek what we require."

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"'Twould do me well to escape the stink of this camp for a time, I think."

Elissa shrugged. "If you prefer."

With a curt nod, Morrigan raised her arms. A shimmer of light enveloped her form. When it vanished, a raven stood in her place. It glanced at Elissa with wide, yellow eyes before it flew away with one long, relieved cry.

"Andraste's flaming sword, she's a shape shifter!" Alistair had scrambled to his feet, backing up a few paces to put more distance between himself and the witch. He glanced around, apparently put out that he was the only one reacting so strongly to this new knowledge. "Hello? I'm I the only one who didn't know she was a shape shifter?"

"I think we all assumed," Elissa said and sat down beside him again, once she had finished laughing. "It's part of the tale of the Witch of the Wilds."

He grunted. "The Chantry has pretty specific ideas about illegal magic as well as mages, you know."

Elissa lightly smacked his uninjured arm without looking up from her work. "Stop it. She's proven to be a powerful caster and experienced herbalist. We need her help."

"We also apparently need a swift kick in the head, but you don't see me going around _asking_ for one."

"Does she really bother you that much?"

"Yes. Yes, she does." When Elissa glanced up, he sighed. "But... I'm not going to turn her in, if that's what you're worried about."

She finished her work in silence. When she was done, Alistair bent his arm experimentally. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, picking her book up again.

She saw Alistair shake his head, a small smile on his face. "I've never met anyone who reads as much as you."

"My father built an impressive library. I understand it rivaled the one at the palace in Denerim," she said absently, searching for her place. She settled down into the grass. "Funny thing about books—they tell you things. Like stories about witches and shapeshifting."

"Oho! Going for the throat and attacking my ignorance. Nice try, but I'm already too aware of it for you to bother." He smiled, getting to his feet. "I should probably go to one of those merchants in the field and see if they have any supplies we can use."

"What about Bodahn?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "With his 'discount'? I'll take my chances with a greasy stranger."

She couldn't argue that logic. "Well, at least let me get it."

Alistair smiled. "Elissa, don't punch me or anything, but you don't know jack about bartering."

She opened her mouth to protest, but ended up letting it go with a soft laugh. "Well, true enough." She passed him the coin pouch she kept on her belt. "Oh! See if they have any of those strawberries we found in Lothering. I'm starving."

… …

It became clear to Alistair that the group of refugees wouldn't be staying for the night. Already, they were packing up all around him, the whisper of the destruction of Lothering passed along from family to family until he was surrounded by the same type of sweltering panic he had seen there. Finally, he found a man who seemed to be in charge of the caravan, and warned him to take the fields and cut across the river to the North Road to Denerim.

The merchant, however, was busy haggling with the people as they tried to refill their supplies for the long journey ahead. Alistair overheard the prices he was extorting and nearly walked back to where Bodahn had set up shop, disgusted with the idea of someone greedy enough to take advantage of this wretched lot, but the sight of a well-crafted sword on one of the tables, gleaming in the sunlight, made him pause. The item was finer than any of the others the man had to offer, pulling at his curiosity just enough to make him wander over for a better look.

He saw the crest then, engraved into the crosspiece by expert hands. It was a laurel, stained white and set in a blue background, the outer edge of the circular design trimmed in pure gold. The herald was Highever's, and the gold trim indicated the weapon belonged to one of the noble family. He ran his fingers over it, puzzled, ignoring the merchant as he trotted over, eager for an interested buyer in such a weapon. It was far too heavy to be Elissa's, and the obvious customization would call for someone taller, with larger hands...

Realization dawned on him, and he was startled by the anger that accompanied it, a smoldering burn in his chest. "Where did you find this?"

"In the Wilds, my lord. Funniest thing, that someone would just leave a fine blade sitting there like that, but who knows why people do what they do?"

He was lying—that much was apparent to even Alistair, and his anger spread, blooming beneath his skin like a fever. "Was he dead?"

The merchant made a sad attempt to look insulted. "And just what are you trying to say? I'm an honest tradesman, I am. I don't make a business of going about looting—"

Alistair grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him across the table. Startled cries erupted all around him, but his focus was reserved only for the merchant. This filth had looted the dead at Ostagar, searched through the wreckage of the only life Alistair had ever felt was truly his in search of coin. He wanted to hang onto that rage, to take out his pain and anger on something tangible, but one thought was louder than the others, drowning out the dozens crying out for justice in his heart. "I asked if he was dead."

_ Please, Maker, don't make me do this to her..._

"He was!" The man was stuttering in terror, trying to squirm free. "There were bodies everywhere. The ravens had already had their way with them. He had been dead for days!"

Alistair shoved him back, sending him crashing into his crates. "Get out of here. Now."

… …

Elissa recognized the blade in his hand almost instantly. How often had she seen it resting at Fergus' side? Or in his hands as he taunted his sparring partner?

"Where was it?" she asked, swallowing hard as her fingers slid lightly over the crest of her family—a gentle caress, as though she could somehow still reach her brother through the mark.

"A merchant found it in the Wilds," Alistair said quietly, and hesitated only a moment before adding, "I'm sorry, Elissa. There were no survivors."

She could barely answer him, the knot in her throat becoming unbearable. "Thank you for bringing it to me," she whispered, and she meant it, even if the pain it brought with it was threatening to drown her. "I... I need to be alone."

He didn't try to stop her as she ran into the trees, seeking their tangled comfort before she gave herself over to grief. She fell on the banks of the river as the tears spilled over, hot and painful. Her mind was overwhelmed by memories; Fergus as a gangly youth, being reprimanded by their father for shoving the son of a visiting lord into the stable filth after he had pushed Elissa; Fergus laughing in the cold winter sun while Elissa ran across the courtyard and slid across the ice with a practiced step; Fergus entrusting her to protect his family...

The primal cry that burst forth was unlike anything she had ever experienced, ripped from a well of pain in her soul that could no longer be restrained. As it dragged on and on, she couldn't breathe, would suffocate on her despair and for a moment, she wanted to. Anything to end the ripping emptiness that continued to swallow her in small pieces from the inside out.

She heard the crashing through the trees, and she wanted to run, to be left alone to her grief. Her body failed her for the first time, ignoring her demands to get up and move. She felt him drop to his knees beside her before strong hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her forward. Alistair ignored her attempts to fight him, slipping his arms around her despite her struggling and shoving against him. Her fingers curled in his shirt as the fight spilled out of her on a tidal wave of tears and she hung on, sobbing. Elissa distantly heard him snap, "I've _got _her," before the merciful sound of retreating footsteps.

"I can't," she gasped, unable to get the words past the hysterics pouring out of her. She needed to tell him that she couldn't do this anymore, had nothing left to offer.

For how long they knelt on the muddy bank, she didn't know, but the day cooled into evening, the night falling with only the sounds of the gentle lap of the slow water, resonating in the stillness like the echo of the White River that guided home the souls of the lost.

… …

Long after the others were sleeping, Alistair sat with her across the fire, answering her broken conversation with murmured responses.

"You should get some sleep," she ventured at length, her voice still raw and hoarse. She knew she wouldn't find any rest tonight, and saw no reason for him to miss out, as well.

He gave her a tired, weak smile. "This thing we're doing? One benefit is the lack of commanding officers. I'll sleep tomorrow. Or today, rather." He got up, moving to drape a blanket around her shoulders against the cool of the evening before taking the spot beside her. "You stayed up with me after Ostagar, Elissa. I wouldn't be any kind of friend if I couldn't do the same."

He called her his friend so easily, but Elissa still felt like she barely knew him. He hadn't been all that eager to talk the night she sat with him, grateful as he had seemed for her company. A driving need to know him better, to feel something other than completely and utterly _alone _prodded her to ask, "You… you didn't lose family there as well, did you?"

He hesitated at that, something unknown flickering in his eyes as he debated how to answer. "No," he said at last, and then sighed, speaking softly. "I never had any family to speak of."

"None?"

He shook his head. "I'm a bastard. And before you make any smart remarks, I mean the fatherless kind." He kept his eyes on the campfire, unaccustomed to providing such honest answers to her questions. "My mother was a servant at Redcliffe Castle who died giving birth to me. My father… he was a noble, and one who couldn't be bothered with an illegitimate son who might compete with his _real _children for a share of his holding." She had long suspected as much, but didn't say so out loud. "Arl Eamon put a roof over my head when my mother passed, but I was never anything more than a boy who slept in his stable. Still, he took me into fosterage and saw to it that I was educated, when I was old enough."

"That was kind of him." The only reason she could think of for an arl to take a serving girl's infant son into his care was because the boy was the result of a youthful indiscretion. It would also explain why he was sent away as soon as he was old enough. No wife wanted the proof of her husband's infidelity lingering in her home.

"It took me many years to realize that. He's a good man. At the time, though, I was too angry to see that my life could have been much worse. The arl married a woman from Orlais, and she was furious at the rumors that pegged me as Eamon's son." He glanced back at her with a wry smile, as if to tell her he knew exactly what kind of conclusions she had drawn. "She was the one who insisted that I be sent to the Chantry. I was… bitter, to say the least."

"You were a child."

"And raised by dogs," he said with a smirk, but the humor was strained and fell flat. "Or at least I acted like I was. Arl Eamon tried to visit me there a few times, but I refused to see him." He sighed. "So no, I never had any family. The closest I ever came to one was with the Grey Wardens."

She tugged the blanket more securely around her, feeling suddenly wretched for all her unkind thoughts of Duncan. "I'm sorry you lost them."

"Duncan knew the odds of us all pulling through," he said, his tone slightly stiffer than it had been. It was still hard for him to talk about, she supposed. "All the same, I'd like to build a memorial for him, if we manage to survive this. From what little he told me, his family left Ferelden for Orlais when he was still very young, and his parents were both killed early in his life. He wouldn't remember any distant relations here."

"Where was he from originally?"

"Highever."

Elissa looked at him, not bothering to hide her surprise. "Really?"

Alistair nodded. "I'll go there, I think, when this is done. I've never been there before. Well, I've never really been _anywhere _before."

"It's beautiful," she said, looking at the dark woods around them with a small shudder. She didn't say anything more, though she suddenly had an overwhelming desire to remember her home—a way to convince herself that her life before was more than a fantasy sprung from a mind too rife with imagination. Absently, she reached down and patted Aiden—the only tangible proof she had left to her.

Alistair seemed to have sensed her shift in mood, and either out of compassion or the desire to move the talk away from him, he said quietly, "Tell me about it."

She wavered, unsure, but the forest and fields were suffocatingly quiet and there was nothing else but her grief, dark and looming as an approaching storm, and so she did. She told him of the grassy plains and the sun-filled forests where she would often explore as a child. She spoke of the high cliffs and the crash of the sea that lulled her to sleep at night.

She paused often, overly aware that the floodgate could rapidly become rambling, but Alistair apparently had the ability to be an excellent listener on the rare occasions when he wasn't talking, and gently prodded her with questions until her eyes were drooping with a heavier exhaustion than she had ever known.

"Get some sleep," he said at last, getting up to head to his own blankets. He stretched, yawning. "I think we'll have to bully the dwarf into letting us sleep in the back of the cart so that we don't hold up the group tomorrow."

Elissa nodded her agreement, too tired to answer, and bent down to pick up the sword that had belonged to her brother. She held it for a moment longer before offering it to Alistair. "Here. You can have it. It's better than the one you have."

He immediately shook his head. "No. You keep it."

"This sword was specialized for Fergus. It's too heavy for me."

He was quiet for a little while, thinking. "When I was a boy," he said slowly, "I had an amulet with the symbol of Andraste on it that had belonged to my mother. I remember when Arlessa Isolde told me I would be leaving, I threw it against the wall in a fit of fury and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do." He looked at her, his light eyes filled with sympathy. "Keep it, Elissa. You'll regret giving it up, later."


	16. Redcliffe

**Chapter Sixteen**

_**Redcliffe**_

_._

_Just when things seem their darkest_

_They go utterly black_

_Paul Newman_

.

.

The day was bright with spring, the scent of flowers lingering on a cool, refreshing breeze that blew in off of the lake. Redcliffe was visible from where they had stopped, a charming collection of buildings and round houses scattered along the cliffs like tiny miniatures nestled an earthy blanket of red. Elissa leaned forward, gripping her hands around the back of the ancient stone wall she was sitting on to steady herself as she looked around eagerly, happy to be free of the dark, tangled forests.

"This is wonderful," she said to Alistair, who was perched on the wall right beside her as he finished his lunch. "You grew up here? It's beautiful."

"Yes. Stable filth and Arlessa Isolde. It was a real treat."

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes at him. "You have no sense of artistic romance at all, do you?"

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm a hopeless romantic. You try waxing poetic about the smell of dead fish lingering over everything."

"But living on the lake had to make it worth it. Have you ever seen anything so impossibly blue?"

He smiled to himself—a small, secretive smile that she didn't recognize. "Maybe once." She waited, but he wasn't going to say anything more, apparently, dusting off his hands before he straightened and hopped down off the wall. "The others are ready to go. We should get moving," he said, reaching up to lift her down. Elissa had figured out some time ago that this sort of everyday chivalry was just ingrained in Alistair—arguing against it was useless, and she didn't mind, anyway. "Listen, before we go, can I talk to you for a minute? There's… something I probably should have brought up sooner."

"Sure."

He looked at the rest of the group, uneasy. "Um. Alone?"

She raised an eyebrow at him but didn't ask, instead turning towards Leliana, who was waiting for them on the road while the others started down the hill. "Go on ahead! We'll catch up!"

Leliana gave her a smile entirely too sly for her tastes before moving on to the front of the group, leading them down the dusty path that would eventually reach the village. Elissa barely managed to resist rolling her eyes again and turned back to Alistair. "So what's the matter?"

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well. Here's the thing—you remember how I told you that Arl Eamon raised me? I kind of… let you believe…" He sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. "I know what it looks like, but you're wrong. Arl Eamon isn't my father."

"He's not?" She was brought up short, both by the declaration and the fact he was being so candid about her assumptions. "I thought you said the arlessa—"

"Oh, she hates me, sure enough. It was the gossip she couldn't stand, and she wasn't going to let something as absurd as the truth stand in the way of that. No, the arl took me in as a favor. And the reason he did that was because…" he took a deep breath, as if to steady himself, "my father was King Maric. Calian was my half-brother."

It took a full ten seconds for the words to sink in, and when they did, Elissa couldn't have held back her exclamation of incredulity even if she wanted to. "Wait—you're a sodding _Theirin_?" He winced, dropping his eyes. She remembered thinking that Alistair looked familiar to her when she had first met him, and she nearly smacked a hand to her forehead in annoyance at her own stupidity. He looked like _Cailan_. His hair and eyes were darker, and Cailan carried the subtle elegance of royalty while Alistair bore the unpolished look of a soldier, but the resemblance was so obvious she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it sooner. "Andraste's _ass_, Alistair!"

"I would have told you sooner, but it never really meant anything to me." The words were hurried, as if he thought hearing them faster would make her less angry with him. "I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule, and so they kept me a secret."

"That was before! Alistair, you have to know the implications here. Cailan's _dead_."

Apparently, he didn't know the implications. She had to remind herself that he had been raised a commoner, and wasn't trained to immediately register the intrigue involved. He just looked at her for a long time before understanding lit his eyes and rapidly turned into horror. "No! No, no, no. No one else knows about me, and I intend to keep it that way. I hold no illusions about my status, Elissa. It's always been made very clear to me that I'm a commoner, and now a Grey Warden, and in no way in line for the throne. And that's fine by me," he added quickly. "No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he was Cailan's uncle, and more importantly, very popular with the people."

She doubted it would be that simple. Eamon was looked up to, it was true, but he was related to Cailan through the man's very non-Theirin mother. The fundamentalists of Ferelden would have been outraged to see him push such a weak claim.

Alistair was looking at her with something close to pleading in his eyes, unnerved by her silence. "I've never told anyone else before. I… I didn't want you to know for as long as possible." His gaze dropped back to the dirt. "I'm sorry."

He looked so miserable that she _almost _wished she hadn't snapped at him. She deliberately softened her tone. "Alistair, I don't pretend to understand… any of this. But, why did you keep it from me? Didn't you trust me?"

"Of course I did! I just…" He sighed, gazing at the castle in the distance. "All my life, I've either been ridiculed or coddled because of my bloodline. When I went to the Chantry, the orphans saw the signs of nobility in me and thought I put on airs. The nobles recognized me for a bastard and… well, you can probably imagine how that went. I guess I kind of liked the idea of you not knowing. It was nice, for a little while, to have someone who might like me for who I was."

She wasn't entirely certain how to respond that. "What changed your mind?"

"It'll probably come up. I didn't want you to hear about it from someone in there." He nodded towards the castle. "I'm a well-kept secret, but Redcliffe knows. So did Duncan. He kept me out of the fighting because if it."

But it hadn't been Duncan who had decided that Alistair would stay behind. She remembered Cailan's expression when he insisted that Alistair join her in the tower. The family that ruled Redcliffe hadn't kept their secret well enough, it seemed. She only wished she knew what it meant. All she was sure of was that she didn't want to be the one who had to explain to her clearly unhappy friend that, right now, he was Cailan's only living heir.

He sighed again, and she realized she had been quiet for too long. "Anyway, that's it. That's all I had to tell you."

"You're sure?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, and his eyes lightened a bit at the teasing tone. It took so little to make him happy. "You don't have any other surprises waiting for me?"

He smiled, relieved. "Other than a mild obsession with my hair and an unholy love for fine cheeses, no. Just the… just the _prince _thing. So, if you could just keep pretending I'm some nobody you got stuck with who was too lucky to die with the Grey Wardens, that would be good."

She laughed, tilting her head with a small smile. "And what does that make me?"

He looked at her for a moment, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The reason I say I'm lucky," he said almost carelessly, then walked away, leaving her standing there gaping behind him.

… …

It was only about an hour later when the smell hit them. It started out nearly undetectable, a hint of old decay lingering beneath the breeze, like a small animal had crawled into a hole and died nearby. As they continued, though, the odor got stronger, until a particularly ripe waft of rot reached Elissa and forced her to stop, covering her nose with the back of her hand. "Maker's breath, what is that stench?"

"I warned you about the fish thi—" Alistair's remark was cut short and he coughed. "Ugh. _That _I don't remember."

"It is a warm day—do the people of Redcliffe dump their garbage into the lake?" Leliana asked, clearly fighting to keep her face from curling up into a grimace.

"No—the lake's their livelihood. And it doesn't smell like garbage. It almost smells like—" His eyes widened in horror.

"A decaying battlefield," Sten said when Alistair didn't.

Alistair gave Elissa one wild-eyed look and broke into a run. She swore beneath her breath and chased after him, both sprinting in the direction of the town.

Elissa was nearly sobbing for breath by the time they reached the small stone bridge that led into town, the image of what they had left behind in Lothering flashing through her mind despite her repeated attempts to keep it at bay. If their delay had allowed the darkspawn horde to reach Redcliffe before they even had a chance to warn them, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself.

She almost collapsed in relief at the sight of a young man keeping guard over the bridge, looking well and whole. He spotted them at the same time, running out to meet them with an eagerness that made the short-lived relief quiver in her gut. "You! I thought I saw travelers coming down the road! Have you come to help us?"

"What—" Elissa stopped and swallowed, trying to catch her breath. Beside her, Alistair was doing the same. "What help? What's going on here?"

The young man's face fell into lines of despair. "You don't know? Hasn't anyone out there heard?"

"_We _could hear, if you'd tell us." Alistair's fear was making him sharp. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to wrestle himself back under control.

Elissa decided it would be better if she did the talking for them until he could pull himself together. "What's happening? Has this got anything to do with the arl falling ill?"

"He could be dead for all we know! No one's heard from the castle in days. Redcliffe is under siege—every night, evil creatures come out of the castle and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting, and… dying. We've no army to defend us, no arl and no king to send us help. So _many _are dead."

Alistair straightened. "Hold on, what's this evil that's attacking you?"

"We don't know. No one does. I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's the only thing that's holding us together."

Alistair looked surprised. "Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?"

"Yes. I'll take you to him. It isn't far."

… …

Redcliffe gave every feel of a small town readying itself for war. People filled the streets, doing what they could to ready the sparse defenses. Handfuls of civilians, looking awkward and uncomfortable in borrowed armor, crowded the yard of the chantry, taking hastily delivered lessons in archery and swordplay while what handful of soldiers the town boasted looked anxiously at the sky, wondering if they had any hope of making progress before darkness fell.

The chantry itself was spilling over with those who couldn't assist in the coming battle—women and children and those who had seen too many winters to be of much use in combat. Everywhere Elissa looked, she saw grief. Children surrounding the overworked sisters of the Chantry, asking after missing parents—women who tried to comfort children who shed tears of fear, not understanding what was happening to them.

Bann Teagan stood in the middle of all of it, offering what comfort he could to the populace as soldiers ran in and out, carrying his orders to the leaders of the militia. He glanced up when they entered, a look of faint relief on his face to see people who obviously weren't seeking shelter. "It's… Thomas, isn't it? Who are these people with you?" Teagan's eyes took in the armor and weapons at a glance. "Not simple travelers, obviously."

"No, my lord. They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them."

"Well done, Thomas. You may return to your post." He offered Elissa and her friends a bow, the practice of courtly grace so deeply fixed in him that he kept his manners despite his obvious exhaustion. "Welcome, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl."

"I remember you, Bann Teagan." Alistair stepped forward, a flicker of honest friendliness in his eyes as he offered the man a small smile. "Though the last time I saw you I was a lot younger and… covered in mud."

"Covered in mud?" Teagan blinked for a few moments before recognition set in. "Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive!"

Alistair gave him a full smile now, pleased that he was remembered. "Still alive, yes, though I'm just as surprised about that as you are, believe me."

"Indeed." For a moment, Teagan's weariness was forgotten as a gleam of anger lit his features. "Loghain would have us believe that all the Grey Wardens died alongside my nephew at Ostagar, among other things."

"What has Loghain been saying?" Elissa asked, suddenly realizing that Bann Teagan would have had access to the talk occurring in court circles—disputes and news that the common folk of Ferelden had no way of hearing, save through rumor.

Teagan glanced at her, curious. "The official story is that Loghain pulled out his men in order to save them. That Cailan risked the entire nation's safety in the name of glory. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man." He regarded her seriously, his eyes wandering over her with a professional wondering she found somewhat unsettling. "Forgive me, my lady, but have we met before? You seem strangely familiar to me."

She might have known this would happen. She simply had been so preoccupied with everything else going on, she hadn't had a moment to worry about recognition from the nobility. "I'm sorry—you must be mistaken. I'm a Grey Warden."

"My apologies, then. I could have sworn I'd seen you somewhere before."

"What is happening at the castle?" she asked, just as interested in getting the focus away from her as she was about what may have been behind the attacks.

Teagan glanced at the doors as if he could see the castle from there, his eyes troubled. "I don't know. The castle is closed to us. The gates are barred—no guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts. I came here when I heard the news that my brother was ill, and found myself locked out, with no way of knowing his fate. Then the attacks started a few nights ago. Evil… things surge from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault. They come again with every eve, and in greater numbers. Tonight will assuredly be the worst yet, and we are at the end of our resources."

"What manner of creatures are you seeing?" Morrigan asked suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. She had been exceptionally quiet all day, lost in thought.

"Some would call them the walking dead," Teagan answered, grimly studying the witch. "Corpses reanimated, with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. Alistair, I know that it is a grave thing that I ask, but we need help. Our knights are spread across Ferelden on this quest of Isolde's, and I've few men to take up the defenses."

Alistair was taken completely off guard by the request. "It isn't just up to me." He glanced at Elissa. "But… I'll offer what help I can. I can't speak for the others."

"Of course we'll help," Elissa said before the others could object. She was watching Morrigan. "Alistair, talk to Bann Teagan and figure out what has to be done. We'll go look around and see if we can't improve their chances a little."

His eyes thanked her.

"Why are we helping these people?" the witch asked the moment they stepped outside. "We owe them nothing."

"And they don't owe us anything, either. That's kind of the point. Forget that, for now. What do you know that we don't?"

"That the man in there is a fool if he thinks a group of five will have any hope of saving this town?"

"Don't underestimate Alistair. He knows war—and so does Sten. Intelligent as Teagan undoubtedly is, I don't think he's ever had to face anything like this before. Their assistance can only improve matters."

"That much is obvious," Sten said.

Elissa ignored him. "I'm talking about that question in there. You wandered through Lothering without a second glance at what was happening there. What's different?"

Morrigan crossed her arms, and at first Elissa thought she wasn't going to answer. Then, reluctantly, she said, "There is magic at work here."

"What kind of magic?"

"What is it you believe me to be, some tool to read the different auras clashing in this area? I know not. I can only tell you that the Veil is thin, likely unwittingly torn by an ambitious mage who reached beyond his boundaries, seeking forbidden power. We would be better served escaping it, before we find ourselves caught in the same net he in which he struggles."

Elissa sighed. "We can't. Teagan obviously remembers Alistair fondly, which means he's got a very good chance of getting in to speak to the arl. When you're asking for something as complicated as an _army_, it usually helps to have the person indebted to you in some way."

Sten snorted. "Politics."

She shrugged. "It usually is."

"We have no time for these games. Our only concern is the Blight."

Elissa heaved a sigh, scowling at him. "And how did you think we were going to fight it, Sten? With the five of us, a dog, and whatever plan comes to mind? We need men, and the means to supply them. That requires compromise and calling in debts. Building up a few more people who owe us is the only way we have any hope of doing this."

… …

Elissa breathed deeply, stretching her arms over her head as she looked down at the town stretched out below her. The militia dotted the square, looking like tiny toy soldiers from this vantage. The remaining civilians darted between the armed men, making their way to the chantry and, hopefully, to safety. There were only two hours left before sunset, and Elissa could practically see the dark cloud of fear that began to settle over the scene as the night grew nearer.

She shook her head and went about sharpening her already razor-edged sword, keeping her hands busy to avoid thinking too much about the odds they were facing. She was sitting on the boarded walkway behind the tavern, enjoying a few moments of stolen solitude. Leliana had gone to the chantry to pray. Alistair and Sten were helping the remaining few knights in Redcliffe haul barrels of oil to the hill. She had no idea where Morrigan had disappeared to, but as long as she wasn't with the others, she didn't dwell on it. Sten had already proven that he would cooperate, even if he disagreed with the decisions that she made. He was a soldier, through and through, born to duty and obedience. Alistair and Morrigan were a different matter entirely. Particularly since the former seemed to take perverse pleasure in making sure the witch hated him as much as humanly possible.

At the thought of Alistair, she scrubbed the stone a little too forcefully along the edge of the blade, leaving a long scratch in its wake, and swore at her carelessness.

Elissa was currently convinced that not only was the Maker still in the world, but that He had an insatiable love for irony. The sole survivor of a noble house, paired with the last of the Theirin line.

There had to be divine aid behind it—_someone _had to be getting a laugh out of the situation.

She could understand Alistair's desire not to announce his heritage to the world, especially considering the way his half-brother's reign had ended, but she was equally certain it should have come up before this. She remembered thinking that for all the time they spent together, she still didn't know him very well. She might begin to, she thought sulkily, if he ever deigned to _tell _her anything.

If she had been moody upon reaching Redcliffe, she was positively surly now. The blacksmith who refused to aid the militia because he was busy drinking himself blind, the girl in the chantry who could find no one willing to help her find her lost little brother, Morrigan's disdain for all of them—Elissa had heard nothing but a stream of excuses since entering the town. Everyone had a justification for not helping the handful that would fight, and likely die, trying to protect them. They locked themselves away with only their fear for company, content to let someone else carry the burden.

Like everything else seemed to these days, it was falling to her. She had already done all she could to ready the town to defend itself. All she could do now was wait and hope that it was enough.

She had abandoned tending to her weapons and was amusing herself by throwing a stick for Aiden to fetch when Alistair found her there a short time later, just as the light was beginning to darken. Without speaking, he sat down beside her, surveying the scene below.

"They look ready," he said after a moment.

Elissa threw the stick again and watched Aiden dash off happily. "They look frightened."

He turned his attention to her, frowning slightly. "You did a good thing down there, Elissa."

"Let's hope so. I just hope I don't get them all killed."

"They have a chance, now. They didn't before." He looked away, and Elissa thought he seemed nervous. "I was watching you today, working so hard to help a lot of people you don't even know. I guess I just wanted to say—"

He was interrupted by the return of Aiden, who shoved himself between them to deposit the stick on Elissa's lap. Elissa pushed the dog aside, a little irritated at the interruption. "What?"

"I was saying—" But he was cut off again by Aiden's bark, the dog's tail wagging frantically as he waited for someone to continue the game. Alistair scowled and took the stick from her. "You want it? Want the stick, boy? Here, fetch!" He lobbed it down into the town square below. With a happy bark, Aiden galloped around the side of the tavern, presumably to take the long road back down into town.

Elissa glared at Alistair, though she was trying hard not to laugh. "Stop picking on my dog."

"He seems happy. And the moment's ruined, anyway." At least that's what she thought he said. The second part was such a low grumble she couldn't be sure. "We should probably follow him down and collect the others. It'll be dark soon."

"Where did Morrigan disappear to, anyway?" she asked as he helped her to her feet.

"The tavern. I tried to tell her they probably didn't serve goat's blood, but…" He finished with a shrug.

"_Alistair_."

"What? It was a sincere enough warning. Just trying to be charitable."

"How is it that no one has strangled you yet?"

He laughed. "You would do violence? Upon me? I am shocked and dismayed. The dogs would never have threatened me that way, you know."

She shook her head, smiling, and started for the hill. Alistair paused for a moment, looking quizzically down at the town. "Elissa?"

"Hm?"

"What is it with you and _heights_?"

… …

The night closed in around them, the darkness settling into velvety black outside the glare of the flames that danced along the base of the hill. The heat from the fiery barrier was intense enough to sear her lungs, sweat pouring down her back and between her breasts as she fought. She didn't know how Alistair could stand to be so close, couldn't remember how many times she had ordered him back, but he continued to ignore her, meeting every new wave of enemies at the front of the line. The smell of burning, rotting flesh was thick enough to make her gag, but the numbers of the undead were overwhelming—they didn't dare douse the flames. The corpses seemed not even to feel the effects, charging toward the knights with their wasted skin blistered and smoldering, hanging off their bones in great, blackened gouts as they clawed and shrieked and howled.

"The chantry! They're coming up from the lake!"

She wasn't even sure who yelled the warning before she was running, shouting at a nearby knight to hold the line as she sprinted for the town, her companions running behind her. The night air away from the blaze hit her like a blast, bringing some relief to the burning in her muscles as she shivered. The foot of the hill revealed what remained of the militia, fighting off dizzying numbers of the gruesome enemy, desperately throwing themselves in harm's way to keep them from the chantry building. Alistair paused only long enough to brace his foot on one last half full barrel of oil at the foot of the hill and shove it over, spilling its contents across the ground. "Morrigan!"

A jet of flame, another barrier was in place, and Elissa threw herself into the chaos.

A certain kind of peace comes with being too exhausted to even think, the world narrowed to _dodge _and _duck_ and _strike_ without room for panic or fear. Through the night, she fought, catching only glimpses of her companions in the whirlwind of blood and death and flame.

Dawn came without warning, only the cheer of the ragged militia piercing her foggy mind before she realized that it was over. She could only stand there, too tired to even fall to the ground, her body aching in places she didn't even know she had as she moved to dazedly put her weapons away, wondering at the improbability of it all. It was that moment that she realized just how completely she had been expecting to die in the course of the night, and the knowledge that she was still alive made her hands shake with unexpected relief, nearly giddy.

Alistair staggered over to her, as filthy and exhausted as she was. "Hey," he said, too tired to elaborate.

"Hey." For a heartbeat of silence, they just looked at each other before Elissa threw herself into his arms, holding him as tightly as she could just to assure herself they were both really alive. He was too startled to react at first, but then she heard him laugh softly, the sound reverberating through him as his arms came around her, and she thought she felt the ghost of a kiss on the top of her head.

"I know, right?"


	17. Of Zombies and Arlessas

**Chapter Seventeen**

_**Zombies and Arlessas**_

_._

"_What are we going to do?"_

"_I'm leaning towards blind panic, myself."_

_~BTVS_

.

.

They slept for only four hours before Elissa was being shaken awake. Her head felt heavy, like it had been stuffed with wet cotton that effectively muffled anything resembling a coherent thought. Even as exhausted as she was, she hadn't slept well at all, unaccustomed to the crowded chantry and all the noise such a crowd brought with it. She was a little envious of Alistair, who appeared to be able to block everything else out and collapse on his pallet, not stirring even once until they were summoned.

"Elissa," said Leliana, giving her shoulder another shake when she didn't respond right away. Elissa barely resisted the urge to bat her hand away. "Bann Teagan wishes to see us. He is making a formal appearance in front of the village. I think he would like to thank you publically."

"Tell him better thanks would be to let us _sleep,_" Alistair said, grumbling into his pallet without moving.

Elissa sat up, rubbing stinging eyes, and gave her fellow Warden a little nudge with her foot. "Get up. He wouldn't send for us if it wasn't important."

"One might argue that Wardens who aren't suffering from sleep deprivation are _also_ important," he said, but he got up, looking just as haggard and disgruntled as the rest of them as he reached for his gear.

The scene outside was an uncomfortable combination of grief and jubilance, the happy populace exchanging hugs and tears of utter relief while the pyres of the fallen burned in the distance. As Bann Teagan addressed them, they watched him with a near sense of hero worship in their eyes. Elissa waited off to the side on the chantry steps, trying not to yawn during the speeches, more aware than she would have been even two days ago of the importance of keeping the morale of the village intact. That Teagan had managed to do just that throughout all the horror-filled nights impressed her more than a little. He was a true leader, a man who had put the safety of the people before the concern he harbored for his missing brother. She respected him for it.

Her mind had begun to drift, dissolving somewhere into the blur of the crowd and Teagan's pleasant voice, when suddenly the gathering was breaking up, and Alistair was nudging her with his elbow, laughing quietly beneath his breath. She had nearly fallen asleep on her feet.

"Now, then," Teagan said, and his quiet, anxious tone snapped Elissa back into attention. She shook her head, trying to rid it of the cobwebs. "Meet me at the windmill as soon as possible. There is something urgent we must discuss."

… …

"Do you mean to tell us that you might have entered the castle at any time?" Morrigan crossed her arms, positively bristling in annoyance at Teagan's revelation. Elissa wasn't overly thrilled by it, either, completely convinced that sometime in the course of the battle preparations, it might have been mentioned that there was a secret passage along the lake that lead directly into the distant castle.

Teagan, however, refused to look apologetic. "I did what I deemed was necessary in order to protect the village. We would never have survived without your assistance. The blow that you dealt to these monsters was substantial enough that we can take the risk, now. This entrance is known only to the ruling family."

Elissa sighed and rubbed her eyes, too tired to decide whether she was angry with him or not for using them in such a desperate situation. "What are you hoping to find in there?"

"I don't know." Teagan looked like a man who was refusing to allow himself too much hope. Given the number of monsters that appeared, Elissa couldn't blame him. The odds that anyone was left alive within the distant stone walls seemed grim. "But we must know what is happening before we can plan our next move. I would suggest—Maker's breath!"

Something behind Elissa had captured Teagan's complete attention. He didn't finish the thought, staring open-mouthed at a woman running up the road towards them. Elissa took one look at her rich clothing and knew she hadn't seen her at all throughout the battle, but she felt Alistair tense beside her.

The woman ignored them, running up to grasp Teagan's hands, her thick blond hair coming loose of its elegant bun to dangle around her flushed face. "Teagan, thank the Maker you yet live!" She was Orlesian, with the same light accent as Leliana, but while the bard's voice rolled pleasantly around the foreign Fereldan words, this woman's seemed to tear through them.

"Isolde… you're alive? How did you… what has happened?"

"I do not have much time to explain. I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw that the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And… I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."

She was already pulling on his arm. Elissa was beginning to lose her temper. If this was the arlessa, she had quite a bit of explaining to do. The woman had asked nothing of the town, even though the evidence of the death and destruction was all around her, and yet she was fully prepared to take away the man who had risked his life to defend it. Elissa stepped forward, crossing her arms. "We're going to need more of an explanation than that."

"I beg your pardon?" Isolde drew herself up with a haughtiness royalty would have been impressed by. "Who is this _woman_, Teagan?"

The noble blood in Elissa was outraged, a healthy dose of her own pedigree pride swelling at the way Isolde addressed Teagan, as though she were too low to even speak to directly. "I'm not incapable of answering the question for myself, my lady. My name is Elissa, a Grey Warden of Ferelden."

Alistair stepped forward with a sigh, whether directed at her hauteur or Isolde's, she wasn't sure. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?"

"Alistair? Of all the…" It was hard to miss the way the woman's lip curled in distaste before she recovered herself. "Why are _you _here?"

"They are _both _Grey Wardens, Isolde," Teagan said before Elissa could respond, a firm note of disapproval in his voice. "I owe them my life."

"Please, Lady Isolde," Alistair went on as though he hadn't noticed the exchange. "We had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers."

Isolde bit her lip, but continued to address Teagan. "I know you need more of an explanation, but I don't know how much it is safe to tell. Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think… Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death. You must help him, Teagan. You are his uncle, you could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!"

Her speech was met with dead silence. "What of Arl Eamon?" Elissa asked at last.

Isolde finally deigned to look at her. "He lives. He has been kept alive so far, thank the Maker."

Apparently, Elissa wasn't the only one who found that statement disturbing. "Kept alive?" Teagan asked. "Kept alive by what?"

"Something that the mage unleashed. So far, it allows Eamon, Connor, and myself to live. I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help."

Elissa liked the sound of that even less. Anything that would murder so carelessly, and then defile the bodies of its victims wasn't a being that was given to mercy. She doubted that Isolde's pleading had accomplished nothing more than convincing this evil that Teagan could prove important. "What do you think, Morrigan?"

The witch glanced her way, her arms still tightly folded. "The Veil is torn here," she said, her focus on Isolde. She didn't attempt to disguise her distrust and skepticism. "'Tis possible, even likely, that a Fade demon has found its way through."

"Maker's mercy! Could it truly be a demon?" Isolde's hysterics were too real to be feigned. Whatever was haunting the castle, Elissa didn't believe she was behind it, or even fully understood what was happening, but she suspected the woman wasn't telling them everything, either. Isolde seemed not to notice the uncomfortable doubt that was closing in all around her, and instead was again gripping Teagan as though she could pull him along and force him to follow her back. "I can't let it hurt my Connor! Please, Teagan! You must help us!"

Seeing no chance of answers there, Elissa turned to Alistair. "This Connor is her son? How old is he?"

He looked faintly ill. "He's ten."

Elissa sighed, her heart sinking. She would never be able to talk Teagan into staying behind, not if a child in his family was in danger. Had it been Oren, no one would have been able to stop her from storming the castle herself to get him back. Still, she had to try. "Teagan, I don't want you going in there alone."

Isolde apparently wasn't so worried that she couldn't spare the time to look insulted again. "He must! Why would you not want him to help us?"

Elissa didn't see any reason to attempt to put a polite spin on it, at this point. "Because I don't believe you. There's something going on that you're not telling us."

Isolde sucked in a furious breath. "That's a rather impertinent accusation."

"Not if it's true."

Teagan was the one to intervene this time, perhaps sensing that Elissa's patience had run its course. "Enough. Isolde, wait for me by the bridge. I will go with you." Isolde nodded, casting a disparaging glance at both Wardens before she retreated. Teagan pulled Elissa aside, keeping his voice low so that the arlessa would be sure not to hear him. "The king is dead, and we need my brother now more than ever. I have no choice but to do this. Perhaps I can help Connor or Eamon, but I have no illusions of dealing with this mysterious evil alone. Take my signet ring—it is the key to the passage within the windmill. Follow behind us. Perhaps I can… distract whatever is inside, and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. Remember—Eamon is what truly matters."

Elissa looked up into Teagan's eyes, and saw the truth buried there. He didn't believe Isolde, either, and had no real expectation of escaping this alive. She swallowed back a discouraged retort and took the proffered ring, squaring her shoulders. "Very well, my lord. I'll do whatever I can."

… …

Alistair was exceptionally quiet during the long journey around Lake Calenhad. The tunnel stretched on for miles, wide and roomy enough that Elissa was almost able to forget that parts of the tunnel were fully under water. She swallowed, glancing anxiously at her companion. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine," he said, rubbing his eyes wearily. "It's just like being home again. Except with more undead."

She kicked at a loose stone, trying to ignore the small puddle of water beneath it. "I keep forgetting how difficult this must be for you. This was your home."

He shrugged. "Maybe it was, once. I haven't been here in years. Besides, Isolde made sure it wasn't a home for me any longer before I left."

Elissa growled beneath her breath and kicked the stone again. There was something soothing about the clattering sound against solid stone. "That harridan." Alistair looked at her, surprised. She gestured angrily in the general direction of the castle. "Did you see the way she looked at you?"

"I saw the way she looked at me for three years. I didn't need a reminder. And she has a pretty solid reason to dislike me."

"No, she doesn't. Whether she believed the rumors or not, it still didn't make any of it _your _fault. What kind of person takes their frustrations with their marriage out on a little boy? And she didn't ask, even _once_, about the people of the village. Those people are supposed to be under her protection, just like you were. I'm sorry, Alistair, but she's one of those women my mother used to refer to as 'pretty nags.' Nice to look at, but not a drop of pure blood to be found."

He stared at her for a moment before he burst out laughing. "You know, I think I really would have liked your mother."

She allowed herself a small smile, pleased to see him in a better mood. "You're smirking."

"Am I?" He shrugged. "I've never had anyone get angry on my behalf before. It's a little addicting, isn't it? I—" He stopped suddenly, tugging on her arm to pull her to a halt. "Did you hear that?"

She listened. The sound was very faint—a voice crying for help. Drawing her weapons, she headed down what remained of the passage at a full run. The end of the hall revealed more animated corpses, snarling and reaching between the bars, their blue nails raking for the feel of flesh. The voice came from within, high and piercing in the gloom. "No! Get away from me! Someone help!"

Elissa ran forward without hesitation, her sword flying up to slice across the middle of one of the monsters. The thing screeched and fell back, flesh torn and hanging open, but no blood spilled from the wound. She fought back the now familiar urge to retch at the sight, striking again before it could react. It was a hard lesson they had learned the previous evening—the only way to kill the dead was to slice them to ribbons or char them with fire. Morrigan's magic, though powerful, was not unlimited, and so they had to save her spells.

There were only four this time, and the companions did away with them in short order. As Alistair and Sten dragged them into a pile for Morrigan to burn, Elissa peered through the bars of the cell. The interior was dark, even more so than the corridor they stood in, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust enough to find the figure curled in a corner. The man's features were hard to distinguish, but one thing was clear, at least—he was alive.

"Who's there?"

"H-hello?" The young man looked up, visibly terrified. "Is someone alive out there?"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Jowan." He stood up, cautiously stepping into the light cast by the torches in the hall. Right away, Elissa took notice of the long, elaborate robes he wore.

"You're a mage?" Alistair reached up and wiped the sweat and gore from his face with the back of his hand. "You couldn't have blasted fire through the bars or something to help us out a bit?"

"Are you the mage that Isolde spoke of?" Elissa asked. The young man continued to tremble, not speaking, and Elissa smacked her sword against the iron bars, making him jump. "I'm not going to stand here all day interrogating you. Are you the one responsible for this or not?"

"No! I don't know what's happening! I was brought here to tutor Connor."

"Why?"

"Connor had begun to show… signs. Lady Isolde was afraid they'd take him away and send him to the Tower. She hired me to teach him in secret, hoping that if I taught him just enough, he could hide it."

"Connor? A mage?" Alistair blinked. "I can't believe it."

"It's true, I'm afraid. She was afraid to tell Eamon, terrified that if he learned the truth, he would be the one to send Connor away. So she hired me."

Elissa looked him up and down. Though young and tall, he didn't look overly impressive to her, standing there in his sodden, dirty robes. "If that's true, why are you locked away down here? And where did Isolde find you? Shouldn't you be at the Tower?"

The boy blanched, picking nervously at a frayed thread on his sleeve. "I ran away. They were going to turn me Tranquil. I'm… a blood mage."

"You?" Morrigan eyed him, her voice heavy with disbelief. "_Truly_?"

"Yes, but I truly don't know where the corpses are coming from! I didn't do any of this! I only… I poisoned Arl Eamon." The people standing behind Elissa made a sound more of exasperation than of anger, throwing their hands in the air as if to say they were wasting their time. Jowan leaned forward against the bars, eager to defend himself. "I didn't know! Teyrn Loghain told me that Arl Eamon was a threat to the kingdom. He promised to help me against the Circle if I did as he said."

"That makes you an idiot, not innocent," Elissa said. "Tell me something—how much did you teach Connor?"

"He's very young. We had only just begun training. Unfortunately, that means he's very vulnerable right now. I suppose it's possible that he inadvertently tore the Veil. Especially…" He trailed off, not willing to continue.

"Especially if he was reaching beyond his means to find a cure for his father," Alistair finished for him. He shook his head in disgust. "Let's go."

"Please! I was frightened! I had the templars chasing me, and then—everyone says Loghain is a hero, and he was offering to help me. You don't know what they're like!"

"You might be surprised," Alistair muttered, already headed for the stairs.

"Loghain's abandoned me, and now everything's falling apart. I want to help. I want to put things right. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Morrigan shrugged. "I say this boy could still be of use to us, but if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"

Alistair stopped mid-stride. "Hey, hey—let's not forget he's a blood mage. You can't just set a blood mage free."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at him. "Better to slay him? Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?"

"I'd say it's _common sense_. We don't even know the whole story yet."

"Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves," Leliana said.

Elissa ran a hand through her hair, releasing a long breath. "I think you'd better come with me, Jowan."

He fell back. "I… I don't think that's a good idea. I'd really rather not go walking _into _danger…"

She rolled her eyes. "Then you're staying here." Elissa turned her back on him and started up the stairs, but not before she saw the glares Morrigan and Leliana were sending her way. "I won't forget he's down here. But, second chance or not, I'm not going to let him go wander around freely after what he's done. Maybe sticking around down here will let him rethink just how badly he wants this redemption he asks for so easily."

… …

Over the course of the past weeks, Elissa had become familiar with death. It was their silent companion, a force that watched and waited with every passing day, deciding who to carry away in its cold clutches without prejudice. Even as they laughed and joked with each other, they were always aware that death shadowed their footsteps, waiting.

And yet, Elissa had never experienced death like she found within the halls of the once-great castle of Redcliffe.

The stone crawled with it, the risen corpses lurking around every bend and inside of every shadow. Once again, Elissa found herself battling against enemies who felt no pain and knew no fear. The stench of rot was everywhere, hanging like a stain on the air, an odor so thick that even the rain of fire and lightning that Morrigan unleashed with every battle could not kill it completely. More than once, Elissa found her hand slipping into Alistair's as he led them through the maze-like tunnels of the lower levels of the castle, reaching out for the simple comfort of a touch that wasn't clammy and cold.

Much as she disliked admitting it, even to herself, the undead unnerved her in a way the darkspawn never could. It was much simpler to fight a monster with sharp teeth and black eyes than it was to continue to face these enemies that had once been _people_, that still looked and moved like human beings. She watched Alistair worriedly as they fought, wondering. He had grown up here. Did he recognize any of the distorted, bloated faces emerging from the darkness?

Coming out of the dank, dark cellar and into the sunlit courtyard was like being born again. For a moment, Elissa paused, breathing in the smell of fresh air and letting the warmth fill her trembling limbs. She noted the others with her do the same thing, glancing around in relief before she shook herself like a woman coming out of a deep sleep. "The great hall. Teagan must be there."

None of them seemed any more eager to go back into the castle than she was, but they followed, not making a sound as Elissa shoved open the doors that lead to the great hall.

She stopped in her tracks.

Teagan was dancing, spinning and jumping for the amusement of a boy standing beside Isolde on the dais. The child clapped his hands in glee, laughing as his uncle rolled on the floor like a court jester with a horrid, blank smile frozen on his face. Elissa exchanged a glance with Morrigan and stepped forward slowly, watching as Teagan went into a series of fairly amazing acrobatics before bowing low to the child on the dais. He still had that awful smile in place.

The child looked up at their approach, his eyes shadowed and fierce in the flickering torchlight. He didn't look surprised to see them. "So these are our visitors. The ones you told me about, Mother."

Elissa shuddered. The voice that came from the innocent, cherubic face was unlike anything she had ever heard before, a distorted echo that slithered in the silence of the hall.

Beside him, Isolde looked horrified, her wide eyes on Teagan. "Y-yes, Connor."

"And this is the one that defeating my soldiers—the ones I sent to reclaim my village."

"Yes." She dared to step forward, her voice suddenly taking on a note of pure terror as she tried to plead with him. "Connor, I beg you, don't hurt anyone!"

For a moment, it seemed to have worked. Connor trembled, and his eyes lost the clouded stare. He shook his head. "Mother?" Elissa saw him look around wildly, confused and frightened. "What's happening? Where am I?"

"Oh, thank the Maker." Isolde fell to her knees, clutching his arms. "Connor, can you hear me?"

The change came over him without warning. He shoved his mother back with a strength impossible for his small frame. She went sprawling on the ground, choking on her tears and frantically wiping the blood seeping from her lip. "Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me."

Elissa was too horrified to move. "So, _he_ is the evil you spoke of."

"No!" Isolde's denial was a screech of hysteria. "Don't say that! Please, don't hurt him. He is not responsible for what he does!"

The _thing _beside her laughed—a horrid, echoing sound that brought to mind images of dirt and worms. "They won't hurt me. I'm not finished playing yet."

Alistair was paler than she had ever seen him. "He's an abomination."

Isolde crawled forward, clutching Alistair's hand and sobbing, too hysterical to even realize whom she spoke to. "No! It was that mage—the one that poisoned Eamon. He summoned this demon. Connor was only trying to help his father!"

"And he made a deal with a demon to do so?" Morrigan sighed softly, shaking her head. "Foolish child."

"It was a fair deal!" The child's eyes flashed red in his anger, but he took a step back, apparently unnerved at the sight of the witch standing there. "Father is alive, just as he wanted. You won't rob me of my fun. I won't let you!"

That was all the warning they got before the surrounding guards attacked them. Elissa was completely caught off guard, the Redcliffe soldiers rushing them from all sides like waves collapsing in on them. She moved to trip a guard rushing Alistair at the same moment his shield came up to block a swing coming in on her left. She skewered the man on the ground, trying not to think of the spell he was under, of his innocence in all of this, and spun on her heel.

Elissa found herself face to face with Teagan.

The man's handsome face was contorted in rage as the blade of his sword arced down towards her. She blocked the attack, but she knew she was in trouble. He was strong—much stronger than she was, and he wasn't hampered by the desire not to do any real injury. She darted about him, inflicting wounds that should have been debilitating, but he seemed not to notice, coming at her again and again. She was tiring quickly and losing her essential speed, still worn out from battling her way through the castle. She dodged another swing, diving to the side. Teagan followed through, even though his aim fell short, and was left slightly off balance, leaving his knee vulnerable. Elissa was so eager to put an end to this fight without truly hurting him that she made a crucial mistake. She got in too close, trying to slice through the tendons behind the joint. All of a sudden, Teagan swung back around, countering with a brutal backhand that slammed her into the wall. She felt her head crack against stone before she slumped to the floor, dazed.

Alistair was between them in an instant. Elissa had no idea where he had come from, but she'd never been so grateful to see anyone in her life. "Get away from her, Teagan," he said, warily circling the man who was almost an uncle to him. "I don't want to hurt you."

With a snarl, Teagan charged. He was abruptly flung back by a shield to his face and crashed to the ground. Alistair sighed and shook his head over the unconscious figure. "Damn it, Teagan. I didn't say I _wouldn't_."

He knelt down in front of her, his fingers gently grazing her rapidly swelling cheek.

"I'm okay," she said, but when she reached back and touched the tender spot where her head had hit the wall, she felt a warm, sticky tangle in her hair. Alistair looked livid when her hand came away stained crimson and glared at the unconscious man like he'd very much like to hit him again.

"Teagan!" Isolde ran forward, falling to her knees beside the bann, her hands frantic as she checked him for injury. "Teagan!"

"Oh, we're fine, thanks," Elissa grumbled as Alistair pulled her to her feet. "Where did Connor go?"

"I don't know. I think he ran when the fighting broke out."

"He did." Isolde looked up at them with red-veined eyes. Elissa wondered when the last time the woman had actually slept was. "I know it sounds strange, but violence frightens him. He seeks shelter in his room."

Teagan groaned, and Alistair and Elissa both had their swords raised in an instant, watching him warily.

"Teagan?" Isolde swallowed. "Is that really you?"

"Yes, I think so," he said, his speech still sounding slightly slurred. Alistair was quick to move forward and help him up. "My mind is my own again."

"Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself if you died, not after I brought you here."

"You knew about this all along." Elissa knew that she sounded harsh, and her conscious pricked her slightly for being so tough on a woman that had been through so much already, but her head was throbbing and her bones aching all over. "You let us come here without even knowing what it was we were facing."

"I… yes. I didn't tell you because I believed we could help him. I still do."

That made absolutely no sense at all. "Had you told us, we might have had time to think of something _before_ walking into a deathtrap!" She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I don't know the first thing about demonic possession."

"Connor is not fully possessed." All eyes turned to Morrigan. She seemed to be as startled as the rest of them that she had spoken. "Whatever demon controls him is not on this plane. Did it exist within him, you would not see moments where he is himself."

Elissa nodded, thinking. "What of the blood mage in the dungeon? He probably knows more of this than any of us. He offered us his help."

"Help?" Isolde all but screeched. "He did this! He should be executed!"

"It was your secrecy that enabled him, Isolde," Teagan finally snapped. Isolde looked shocked. "Have him brought up. He may know something we don't."

… …

The room had fallen completely silent. Elissa's head was throbbing worse than ever, humming throughout this ever-increasing nightmare in waves of pain that made it hard to think. Or, she thought grimly, maybe she just didn't want to think anymore, and her brain was finally refusing to dance between two impossible choices.

The only one in the room who seemed perfectly at peace was Isolde, secure in her decision to play the willing victim to this solution. Elissa's headache increased. She reached up to rub her eyes, aware of the many pairs of eyes focused on her. Maybe if she ignored them long enough, they would go away.

Alistair was the first to speak, his voice very quiet. "I… I normally wouldn't suggest slaying a child, but… Connor is an abomination, Elissa."

She stared at him, disbelieving. All this time, she had been struggling to build up the courage to tell Jowan to go through with his ritual, to allow Isolde to save her son. She never would have thought to hear another suggestion from Alistair. He blanched at the expression on her face, but stood firm, meeting her gaze without flinching. At that moment, he even _looked _like a templar. She turned away.

"You can't." Isolde was too weary to cry anymore, but her eyes were red-rimmed and haunted. "Please. Take me instead."

"It does seem the most practical option, given a willing victim," Morrigan said.

Elissa almost laughed, that even now, Morrigan and Alistair couldn't agree on something. She shook her head, running a hand through her hair to hide the way it shook. She couldn't do this, couldn't choose a victim between a mother and a son. Standing there in the castle, surrounded by the horrors of magic gone awry, Elissa was unable to bring more death upon them. "I can't. There had to be another way."

Sten growled in impatience. "There is no other option! Let the woman do as she must."

"No! There has to be another way to do this!"

"Wait!" Alistair said, running his hand through his hair, his brow scrunched in concentration. "Just wait. I think I'm getting a thought here. Jowan said that blood magic would have to power this spell because we don't have enough mages, right? Well, they'd be at the Circle Tower. And it's not that far from here—only a day's journey across the lake."

"The boats to the Circle haven't run for days," Teagan said. "We've heard rumors of trouble at the Tower, but as we were drowning in our own, I've heard nothing more substantial than that. You would be forced to go the long way, on foot."

"But still, isn't it a better option than letting one of these two die?" Elissa asked, more than ready to cling onto whatever hope was offered, however faint. She grabbed the young mage by the collar of his robes. "You'll stay here and help them keep a rein on Connor until we can return. Subdue him, imprison him, do whatever you have to do to keep him under control, but don't hurt him if you can help it."

Jowan swallowed noisily, his eyes darting about nervously. "If that's what you think is best…"

"So help me, Jowan, do _something_! You said you wanted to help, didn't you?"

"I… yes…"

"Well, here's how you can do it." She released him and started towards the doors, but another thought occurred to her. "Oh. And if I find out you bolted before the other mages get here, I swear by the Maker I'll hunt you down and castrate you. Understood?"

She didn't wait for an answer, almost desperate to get outside so she could breathe. Alistair immediately fell into step beside her, pulling her to a stop on the steps the moment they left the castle. "Let me see your eyes."

"What?"

"Your eyes. You slammed into that wall pretty hard."

"I said I was fine."

"I don't really care." He pulled her forward, brushing her hair back to study her gaze, ignoring her loud sigh of exasperation.

"Well?" she asked at length. "What is it?"

"Well, you should be more careful and try not to terrify me quite so much is what," he said almost distractedly. Elissa heard him sigh softly, and suddenly he wasn't examining her anymore, but looking at her, his warm hazel eyes pleading. "You know I didn't want to hurt Connor."

"I know." Her voice was quieter than she had meant it, bringing to her attention just how close they were standing to each other. She was pressed against him, one of his hands resting on the small of her back, the other idly toying with the lock of hair he had brushed aside.

He seemed to realize it at the same moment and stepped back, clearing his throat. "Right. The quickest way to the Circle Tower is to take the Imperial Highway along the east side of the lake. We'll have to move quickly. I don't trust that Jowan as far as I can throw him."

"I would be more concerned by his show of complete incompetence up until this point," Morrigan said with a disgusted sigh. "Blood magic is more often sought out by those too weak to gain power through their own abilities. He will not prove overly effective against a demon, and that idiot woman may trust that he can do this ritual he spoke of if things go badly for them."

"I feel sorry for her," Leliana said very quietly, ignoring the incredulous looks she received in return. "She is simply frightened. And she was willing to die for the sake of her son. Surely there is some honor in that?"

Elissa wasn't going to waste her time arguing the point. Leliana would always see the best in everyone—it was a trait that Elissa found equal parts enviable and annoying. But she exchanged a glance with Alistair, an understanding that no one else in their little band shared passing between them. Despite the odds against them, they were determined to spare Connor the burden that such a sacrifice would bring with it.

It was difficult to focus on the honor of dying in the place of your loved ones when you were the one left behind.


	18. The Broken Circle

**Chapter Eighteen**

_**The Broken Circle**_

_**.**_

_A disaster achieves what the law promises, but does not, in practice, maintain—the equality of all men._

_~ Ignazio Silone_

.

.

For two days, Elissa drove them on mercilessly, keeping them on the move until late each night and kicking them awake at dawn, determined to reach the mages in time. While a small part of Alistair was faintly relieved that they traveled by land instead of over the lake, since he'd never really agreed with boats, even he chafed at the forced delay. Worse still, in all the years he had lived in Redcliffe, never once had the ferries stopped functioning. That, combined with the rumors of trouble in the Tower, caused worry to gnaw at his insides, the knowledge of the fragile state of the relations between the Chantry and the mages drawing his mind to disturbing possibilities. But he kept his mouth shut, afraid that voicing his concerns would cause Elissa to change her mind.

The sun was high on the third day when the harbor finally came into view, the black stone of the Circle Tower standing like a slice in the sky over the surface of sparkling blue waters. Elissa paused beside him as they made their way to the shore, gazing at the intricate patterns and delicate loops in the stone, her blue eyes wide. He smiled to himself as reached for her hand and pulled her along. He had forgotten what a breathtaking sight the Circle Tower could be to someone who had never seen it before. In the weeks they had been together, Alistair was discovering more and more that the woman he had assumed to be well-educated and worldly was, in fact, even more sheltered than he was. Though he had been firmly ensconced in the Chantry, he had the opportunity to travel with the templars, and had traveled even more once he joined the Grey Wardens. Elissa gaped around at the passing world like someone who had never seen it before, and he slowly realized that she had rarely found reason to leave her Highever home. Alistair had never been in the position of being the more experienced person around. He found himself enjoying it, and her reactions to the things he was able to introduce to her.

Unfortunately, the view also presented a bit of a problem. Alistair stopped at the edge of the shore, sighing. "You ever wonder why the mages built their tower out in the middle of Lake Calenhad? They have an aversion to practicality or something?"

She still hadn't let go of his hand, and her fingers were still entwined with his. He was trying very hard to credit it to the fact she hadn't stopped staring yet. "How do people usually get across?"

He gestured to the empty boats, which had been pulled ashore and now lay bleaching belly up in the sun like great, bloated fish. He eyed the weathering with some concern, wondering just how long the ferries had been forbidden to return to the Tower. The land surrounding the docks was peaceful and green, a soft blanket of grass covering the high hills. Here and there, he saw fishermen and peddlers headed to the tavern that lounged at the top of the hill. Yet beneath the quiet setting, Alistair could detect a twinge of unease—a disruption in the natural forces rising from the earth and water. He looked back towards the Tower, his trepidation growing.

"Who's that at the end of the pier?"

He glanced to where Elissa pointed and paused, startled more than he cared to admit. "A templar." That sealed it. Alistair knew firsthand just how much Knight-Commanders disliked letting their templars leave their charges. She started forward, but he pulled her to a halt, unable to justify his silence any longer. "Liss, wait—there's something wrong here."

"What do you mean?"

He turned his grudging attention to Morrigan, who had just joined them on the shoreline. "Are you feeling that, too?"

"Feeling what?" Elissa asked.

Morrigan's eyes were on the horizon, her head tilted in concentration, focused enough on the task at hand that she even forgot to give him a nasty answer. "The turbulence may be from the waters."

"Have _you _ever felt water do that before?"

Elissa released him and crossed her arms. "Feel free to fill me in any time here."

"There are… different energies. It's hard to describe. The ones around the tower have been disrupted."

He saw the shudder go through her, even though she tried very hard to hide it, and he winced. He had never seen Elissa quite as unnerved by anything as she had been by the walking dead, and guilt for keeping his fears to himself began to trickle their way into his stomach. "Disrupted?" Her voice quavered slightly on the word. "Like they were in Redcliffe?"

He glanced again at Morrigan, but the witch showed absolutely no indication of coming to his rescue. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "It's difficult to say from this distance, but if the Veil's been sundered, it's going to be worse than it was in Redcliffe. That was one mage. There's a tower full of them here."

Elissa chewed at her lip, but he saw her square her shoulders, forcibly shoving her fear aside. "Leliana and Sten don't know how to deal with wild magic, and we may need a few people who are better rested than we are right now. They can stay here with Aiden while the three of us go and see what's going on." She looked him in the eye, her fear firmly in control, even though he could still feel it churning beneath the surface through their tainted empathy. "Our first concern, even before Connor, is the treaty with the mages. We don't have any choice but to go."

… …

Elissa watched as Alistair fumbled with the small buckles that secured his leather bracers, grumbling to himself. His hair was still damp and pushed away from his face. "One of these days, we're going to have to try that whole thing where we _talk_ to people before the dire threats."

Elissa focused on clambering out of the boat and onto the shore so that he couldn't see how close to laughter she was. He followed, shivering in the mild breeze, which, she supposed, accounted for his testy mood. "Reminding him that his commander wouldn't be happy if he turned away the Grey Wardens was hardly a dire threat," she said.

"I'm not talking about _you._ I'm talking about Grumpy McFlamethrower over there."

Morrigan sniffed, too busy looking up at the tower to care much about Alistair's glare on her. "Talk was getting us nowhere."

"Easy for you to say. Elissa falls back on her standard of threatening the poor guy's appendages, you put on a light display that could have made Andraste herself wet her pants, and yet somehow, _I'm_ the one who ends up shoved into the lake. Someone explain that logic to me."

Elissa drew herself up indignantly. It wasn't like she made a habit of going around threatening people. "Don't stand so close to the edge next time."

Alistair gave her a withering look. "Do you have any idea what the mages dump into these waters? I think one of those fish tried to talk to me."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

"_Maybe_. Am I growing another head? Because I feel like I'm growing another head."

Elissa turned her back on him, starting up the beach. He ran to fall into step next to her. "I'm just _saying_. I get shoved out of the way here, and I could likely stumble out a window and plummet to my death. Can we hold back on the trying to kill people while we're here?"

Morrigan fixed Elissa with a pointed glare. "You would have been far better served bringing the talkative minstrel. At least she is quiet _some _of the time."

"I don't think she is, actually. _And_," she turned back to Alistair, who seemed to be in a better mood now that he had been successful in annoying her, "I do _not_ go around picking fights."

He shrugged. "Don't look at me. You're the one who theoretically gets me shoved out a window."

"Reality serves absolutely no purpose for you, does it?"

"Only my own."

Elissa started to argue, but decided she'd make more progress if she ignored whatever strange mood he was in. Instead, she made her way up to the cobbled path that led to the towering front doors, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. The island was little more than a cropping of rock out in the middle of the lake, but still she felt like she should have heard some sign of life. Not even a buzzing insect interrupted the gentle lap of the water, giving the entire fortress the impression of being completely deserted. She glanced over her shoulder to find Alistair and Morrigan looking just as uneasy as she felt.

They were quiet as they made their way up the winding stair that led to the central floor. The hallway was dark, the torches doused, and they were forced to navigate their way up by the dim light of Morrigan's staff. Elissa wasn't sure if it was her imagination running away with her, dragged on edge by Alistair's warning and the oppressing, dark stone, but she thought she could hear, very faintly, the sound of someone screaming.

The heavy doors at the top opened to a room flooded with light and voices, but any relief the sight might have brought died away before it could truly take hold. The templars were hurrying as quickly as their heavy armor allowed, helmless and panicked and looking like they had just come from battle, sweat and grime staining their faces. The alcoves were filled with the wounded and dying, some of them shamelessly screaming in fear and agony. Here, Elissa could make out the sharp, tangy scent of blood and lyrium.

Alistair immediately pointed out an imposing figure in the center of the chaos. He was tall and heavily armored, with hair the color of iron. He didn't seem to notice them as they made their way through the crowd, busy issuing orders to the few templars who were still standing. "I want two men stationed at the door at all times! Let nothing pass. All we can do now is wait."

Elissa didn't wait for him to acknowledge her. "Knight-Commander Greagoir?"

"Yes? Who are you? I specifically told Carroll not to let anyone else across."

She steeled herself. "I'm Elissa, a Grey Warden. The mages hold treaty with us, as I'm sure you're aware."

Greagoir sighed and rolled his eyes, gesturing to one of his templars over to a wounded comrade as if he had very little time to spare for her. "I grow weary of the Grey Wardens' constant need for recruits to fight the darkspawn, but it is their right, I suppose. I'll be brief. I have no men to spare, and the mages are currently indisposed. Now, if you would excuse me—"

"'Indisposed?'" Alistair raised an eyebrow at him. Greagoir paused, looking him up and down, as if perhaps wondering if he had seen him before. "What, are they all having tea together? There's a Blight going on."

"I am aware, but we have troubles of our own. You will have to make do without the mages." He turned away from them, and this time, he didn't look back.

Elissa crossed her arms and fixed Alistair with a look. He gave her a half-smile and gestured for her to proceed. "I don't see any windows."

"Thank you." She marched over to Greagoir, stepping directly in his path an ignoring his look of shocked anger. "Your pardon, Knight-Commander, but I'm afraid I must not have made myself very clear. Allow me to elaborate. We are here to call in the treaty the Grey Wardens have held for centuries with the Circle of Magi. If their obligation cannot be filled, then we'll require a thorough explanation of why not, unless you'd like to be solely responsible for the disintegration of this alliance."

She could see him grinding his teeth together. "Very well. We have lost control of the Tower. The Veil has been sundered. The Circle is gone."

Alistair stepped forward. "What? How could this have happened?"

Greagoir seemed to suddenly get smaller as he reached up to rub his eyes. Elissa noticed for the first time that they were completely bloodshot. "We don't know. We saw only demons and abominations, killing mages and templars alike. They overwhelmed us. I ordered my men to flee."

"But…" Elissa glanced around frantically. All she saw were templars. "Where are the mages?"

Greagoir frowned. "Perhaps you are unaware, madam, that abominations are mages who have been possessed."

"I know full well what an abomination is."

"Then you should understand that once the demons were released, it was impossible to tell friend from foe."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Elissa stared at him in absolute horror, her skin cold. She could only shake her head, her voice barely loud enough to travel over the din. "You locked them inside?"

"I had no choice." His tone remained calm, but she saw a flash of anger in his eyes. "Anyone left inside has been in constant contact with the demons. I have already sent to Denerim requesting the Right of Annulment."

Elissa felt a shiver at the words. "What's the Right of Annulment?"

Greagoir didn't answer. He glanced away, looking much older than he had when she first entered. She turned to Alistair. He couldn't quite meet her eyes, either, rubbing the back of his neck. When he finally spoke, his words were very quiet. "He's asking for permission to kill everyone in the tower."

"_What_?"

"Elissa, think for a second. The abominations inside can't be allowed to escape. The mages left behind are probably already dead."

"They're not defenseless!"

"Enough." Greagoir had once again assumed the tone of a man accustomed to being obeyed. "I did not come to this decision lightly. The tower must be cleansed before it can be safe again. I cannot spare any more of my templars to go inside to try to save the handful who may have survived. It would be too painful, to feed hope, and then find nothing. Now, you have your explanation, and I have a disaster to deal with."

He turned away for a third time. Elissa's mind stumbled forward, lurching out her objection before she could take a moment to think about it. "I'll go."

"You'll _what_?" Elissa heard Morrigan hiss at Alistair to be quiet. She raised her chin, refusing to back down.

Greagoir gave her the same look Alistair always did when he thought she was doing something completely insane. She couldn't bring herself to hold it against him. "I assure you, an abomination is nothing to take lightly."

She swallowed hard, trying to choke down her panic and the sudden urge to be sick. "I know."

He looked at her for a long time, weighing her courage. Elissa didn't dare look at Alistair or Morrigan, instead keeping her eyes locked on Greagoir. At length, he nodded. "If you insist; I am in no position to stop you. But I should warn you, the doors will be bolted behind you. I will not open them unless I can be absolutely certain it is safe to do so, and to do that, you must bring First Enchanter Irving to confirm it. Is that understood?"

She nodded once, and the motion was jerky despite her best efforts to look calm. "I understand."

Greagoir walked away, shaking his head at her foolishness. She forced herself to face Alistair, expecting to see condensation or mockery at her rash stubbornness. But, of course, he had no such inclination, and simply met her gaze with the familiarity of someone who knew when she was forcing courage where none existed. "Are you sure?"

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I have to at least try."

He sighed, eying the doors like a man who was facing his own judgment. Elissa still stung from his remarks earlier, and felt a little disillusioned that he had been so ready to side with Greagoir, but it didn't stop her stomach from dropping to her knees when she realized he fully intended to go with her. Elissa had been speaking only for herself when she made her reckless announcement. She immediately began shaking her head at him. "You have to stay out here, Alistair."

He crossed his arms, his eyes hard as steel. "No."

"I don't have time to argue with you. You're the only other person in all of Ferelden who can call in these treaties. If I can't find Irving—"

"_No_."

They faced off, glaring each other down, until Morrigan heaved a sigh of exasperation. "_I _have no desire to go within, if that should please you." When neither of them answered her, she got snappish. "Rather than bickering over which of you is more foolish, you might consider that Greagoir has been delivered of the conscription you have brought, and he herds the sheep of this tower. He is already under obligation to deliver the army you require. One might also point out that separation, in this case, is far more dangerous to both of you. You have a better chance of surviving this ordeal together." Alistair and Elissa didn't break gaze, but they both relaxed slightly at her words. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, good. Might we move forward, then?"

Elissa didn't yield. She turned and marched to the enormous door, leaving them both to follow.

She tried very hard not to tremble when the bolt slid home behind them.


	19. The Ruined Tower

**Chapter Nineteen**

_**The Ruined Tower**_

_._

_Fear cannot take what you do not give it._

_~Christopher Coan_

.

.

The inside of the Tower was dark and utterly silent. Elissa couldn't discern the source of the soft blue light that washed over everything, but it provided just enough to see the edges of the destruction all around them. Alistair immediately put a hand on her elbow, cautioning her to stay back while he took the lead. She wasn't so stubborn that she couldn't see he was much better equipped to take the point in this place, so she fell back willingly, drawing her weapons. They were standing in a long corridor. It branched off through doorways that appeared to lead to what had once been living quarters. Alistair stepped forward cautiously, headed first into one of the side rooms. The inhabitants were long gone, remembered only by what remained of their possessions. Shattered glass and splintered wood covered the floor; the beds had been overturned and ripped apart. Robes that looked like they had been burst at the seams draped over the broken furniture. From within the mess, Elissa could hear scuttling and the occasional scratch, and devoutly hoped she was only hearing mice. An acrid, musty smell that reminded her of smoke hung over everything.

After a moment, Alistair relaxed slightly, sighing and nudging aside a pile of scorched books with his foot. "Wow. This is kind of what I always pictured the inside of my head to look like."

She let out a long breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. "There's nothing here?"

"I see what you did there. Clever. And no, not anymore. They must have moved further in." He kicked the books aside. "I suppose I should be grateful that those are torched so you don't try to keep them." She scowled. Alistair caught the look and gave her a half shrug. "When I'm lugging around _your _books because you can't fit anymore in your pack, then I reserve the right to bitch about them." He bent down and picked something up off the floor. It was a small crystal vial, filled with a blue liquid that seemed to cast a light of its own. He regarded it with an expression of keen dislike before he tossed it to Morrigan. "Lyrium. Only use it if you absolutely have to."

She said nothing, but pocketed the vial. The witch almost looked nervous in these surroundings, her yellow eyes, with a gleam of unease, darting into the shadows. Elissa doubted it was the possibility of abominations that made her nervous—Morrigan wouldn't fear anything as simple as a monster, even a Fade demon—but actually being inside the Circle, with templars guarding the doors. Templars who had already threatened not to let them back out again. She could practically hear the witch's mind rolling through her options, running down different paths that would allow her to escape, with or without her companions. Elissa, knowing Morrigan's passion for her freedom, couldn't quite blame her for harboring that line of thinking.

It was only a little further in that they found the bodies.

They were everywhere, heaped together in a grisly indication of a panicked mob trying to reach the safety of the doors before they had been sealed closed. Elissa swallowed heavily as Alistair began to pick his way through them, careful not to step on any remains. His jaw was clenched and his looked faintly ill, though Elissa couldn't tell if that was the light. She couldn't help but wonder if they had been killed before they could reach the hall, or if they had fought their way down here, only to find themselves abandoned. All around them were signs that the mages had put up a fight, the stone scarred with scorch marks. Water from melted ice spells puddled along the cracks and dips. The templars had not gone down meekly, either, lying in formation even in death, their swords drawn and clutched in cold, stiff hands. Once, in a shadowed corner of the furthest room, they even found the bodies of several templars gathered around a crowd of boys and girls who could not have been much older than thirteen—men who had died trying to defend their young charges.

"There is something ahead."

Morrigan's voice startled Elissa out of her dark musings. She had been so preoccupied she hadn't even heard the telltale signs of life up ahead. Warm light crept in from beneath the heavy door, accompanied by the muffled sound of human voices.

"Keep your guard up," Alistair said when she began to relax. "They could be blood mages."

Morrigan's brow wrinkled in a scowl. "'Tis only natural that the templar in you would begin to see maleficar behind every door, I suppose."

Alistair gave her an exasperated look. "We're in a demon-infested tower overtaken by abominations. When's a _good _time to begin suspecting blood magic, do you think?" He shook his head and put his hand on the latch. "Ready?"

A brilliant light burst forth the moment the door opened, momentarily blinding all of them, and a voice rang out from somewhere within the flash. "Stop right there! Take another step, and I swear I will strike you down where you stand!"

Elissa deliberately stumbled back until she could feel the wall protecting her back, and then raised her blades. She heard Morrigan snarl in outrage from beside her and realized a moment later that Alistair had prevented her from retaliating. "Wait! Don't cast! There are children here!"

"Get your hand off me, fool."

The light slowly dimmed, allowing Elissa to see her surroundings. The first thing to draw her attention was a glowing swirl of blue light that apparently blocked the only other exit. Her hands automatically tightened on her weapons, but a cursory glance around the room proved that the barrier appeared to be keeping something out, rather than holding them in. There were only a handful of people in the room, each of them dressed in the plain, straight robes of the Circle, and each eyeing them with barely concealed hostility. The children Alistair had noticed before he was blinded were cowered in the corner, guarded by older mages who couldn't have been long out of childhood themselves. The only senior mage in the room seemed to be the one the voice had belonged to. She stood in the center of the room, clutching her staff and glaring, bright blue eyes snapping with life despite her snow-white hair. "Who are you?"

"Who're _you_?" Alistair was still rubbing his eyes, annoyed with the rude reception.

She drew herself up, gripping her staff more firmly. "I am Wynne, a mage of the Circle, and these children are under my protection. What is your purpose here? Have the templars opened the door? Speak quickly—I'll have no games."

He only looked amused by the vehemence in her tone. "Feisty, isn't she?"

Elissa didn't find her quite as entertaining, but then, she couldn't keep the mage from frying her to a cinder like Alistair could. "If you would stop _threatening _us for one moment, we could introduce ourselves. We're not here to hurt anyone—we're here to call in the treaty owed to the Grey Wardens."

The staff lowered a fraction of an inch. "You are Grey Wardens?" She peered at them both, not bothering to mask her suspicion. Her gaze lingered on Elissa. "I believe I saw you at Ostagar—Duncan's last recruit before that final battle." She sighed, but her threatening stance didn't soften. If anything, Elissa thought she saw her knuckles whiten around that blasted staff. The sparks shooting from the end of it were making her more than a little nervous. "So why did the templars let you in? Do they plan to attack the Tower now?"

Alistair was quick to answer. "The Right of Annulment hasn't arrived yet."

She closed her eyes, suddenly looking very weary, and finally lowered her weapon. "They sent for it, then. I feared they might have. What else could they do? Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead. They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them."

"It may not come to that," said Elissa. "Are there any more survivors other than the people in this room?"

"I cannot say for sure. If anyone could survive this, it would be the First Enchanter Irving, but I haven't seen him since the attack began." She regarded them both for long moments, curiously this time. "If you aren't here to destroy us, what is it that you hope to do?"

"The Grey Wardens _need _the mages. The Blight is still running unchecked. The Knight-Commander has agreed to call off this witch hunt and open the doors if we can find First Enchanter Irving. With his word that the Tower is safe, you'll all be free to go." _Free to go on living in your Tower until it's time to die helping us stop the Blight, anyway_. She didn't think it was wise to add that part.

Wynne looked thoughtful. "There is a chance, a good chance, that others are still alive within. If you are here to kill the abominations, let me help you. I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle."

"Um." Elissa looked to her companions, but there was no help to be found there. Alistair suddenly seemed to find the stone floor extremely fascinating, and Morrigan simply looked bored. "Thank you for the offer, but I think it's best if we go in alone."

Wynne gave her a gentle smile, as if she knew full well that Elissa was concerned about her age, but her voice was firm. "No. I know the Tower, and I know what we face. And if the Circle is indeed lost and all the mages dead, I would see this for myself. Once Greagoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable."

Alistair stepped closer to Elissa, whispering so that Wynne couldn't overhear them. "You know, a senior enchanter is nothing to scoff at. And it might be nice to have a _real _healer in this, instead of Morrigan's shoddy patch jobs."

Elissa glanced at him, surprised. "How do you know she's a healer?"

"Her robes." He grinned. "Geez. Crack a book sometime."

She was tempted to stick her tongue out at him. "Very funny." She sighed, putting her hand on her hip. She wasn't sure how much she trusted having a Circle mage who would be desperate to believe the survivors they found weren't possessed, but Alistair made a fair point. They had never put themselves in this much danger before, and Morrigan's skill at healing was less than ideal. She shook her head. "Very well. I can't stop you. Take down your barrier."

Morrigan didn't look at all pleased with that decision. "You want us to assist this preachy schoolmistress? To rescue these pathetic excuses for mages?"

Elissa raised an eyebrow at her. "Strange. I would have thought you more sympathetic."

She snorted. "Why? They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them and I say let them have it."

"Perhaps 'sympathetic' is the wrong word. I only meant that had your mother been anyone else, you might very well have ended up here yourself. You have certainly seemed to be aware of that fact thus far."

That seemed to give the witch pause. She looked at Wynne, her golden eyes regarding her solemnly, oblivious, or uncaring, to the glare that the elder mage was sending her way. "My mother often said that things are the way they are, because they could not have been any other way. I have always questioned this." She rolled her eyes and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, probably sorry she had displayed any sign of concern over the idea. "Do what you wish. I care not."

… …

"Liss? I think we have more important things to worry about than trying to talk mages out of closets."

Elissa shot Alistair a look, but to his credit, he wasn't really laughing at her. They had found nothing to laugh about since entering the upper levels of the Tower, but she was still perfectly aware of how ridiculous she had to look talking to a wardrobe. "He can't just stay in there."

"I don't see why not. That guy's _definitely _not possessed, so it must be working for him."

"Nor would he be of much help, as I recall," Wynne said, clearly embarrassed be the mage's pride in his own cowardice, particularly in front of Morrigan, who didn't try to disguise her smug smirk.

"I heard that," came the muffled reply, but the man still didn't emerge from his hiding place.

Elissa couldn't really blame him. She'd felt a bit like hiding more than once. Having never even seen a poorly drawn picture of an abomination before, she hadn't been prepared for the sight of one: nearly seven feet tall, with what had once been a mage's skin stretched across the hulking form of the possessing demon like a torn sack. Every so often, there was a glimpse of what had once been blond hair, or the remains of a tattoo, proving that a living, breathing person had once existed where the monster stood. Only their eyes remained startlingly human, peering at her out of the gruesome, twisted visages in a plea for death.

And so she delivered it, over and over again. She had wanted, desperately, to find this one survivor, something in the Tower that she didn't have to kill. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to get him to safety, to ensure that they saved at least one person in this reckless attempt at a rescue, but Alistair was right. They didn't have time to coddle him. She stepped back with a sigh. "I suppose he's safe enough."

Alistair nodded, relieved that she was seeing reason, and glanced around the scorched ruins of the room. He reached up and idly brushed a singed hole in his shirt, visible just below the short sleeves of his chainmail. "You know, you'd think that in all those years of training, someone might have mentioned somewhere that abominations explode when you kill them." He paused, his head tilted to the side as though he were listening closely. "Are those voices?"

Elissa had been hearing the faint murmur as well and wondering the same thing. She lowered her own voice considerably, even though they'd been making enough noise a few moments ago to alert the dead to their presence, let alone a handful of mages. "I think so. It may be more survivors."

He looked worried. Elissa knew that her penchant for mercy wasn't sitting well with Alistair in this place. "It may be something else, too. Just be careful."

She took the cue to take the lead, padding silently to an open door at the end of the hall. She knew Alistair disliked sending her ahead alone, but the idea of him moving quietly was laughable, and he had to concede the logic behind the decision. He still followed along at a distance, ready to step in if he was needed.

The voices grew more pronounced as she neared, two distinctly male and one female, all arguing with each other. Below that, she heard the quiet, purring rumble of an abomination. Her heart sunk in her chest. The voices were too calm to be under attack. She pressed herself against the wall, edging nearer, and risked a quick glance around the room. Well-trained eyes took in the scene with only a peek, noting thin, deep lacerations on the hands of the mages that must have been inflicted with a sharp dagger. She turned back to Alistair and held up a hand, dragging her fingernail across the back of it to indicate what she had seen. He mouthed out the confirmation she had been dreading. _Blood mages_.

He motioned for Wynne and Morrigan to stay well back before carefully moving forward, treading as quietly as he was able. Elissa inched back toward him so that he could move in front of her, but his heavier footsteps didn't go unnoticed. She heard the female voice hiss a warning to her companions. "Shh! Someone's coming!"

Elissa knew by now that Alistair's Templar abilities had no effect on her, but they still managed to make her feel a little off balance when the space grew chill around him as he drew on the energy in the air, the way the room rippled and grew dense as he released it. The three figures were thrown back by the force of his smite with a muffled cry. They didn't hesitate, charging into the room before the mages could regain their footing. Elissa sliced open the throat of the nearest male with a flick of her dagger. He fell back with a horrible gurgling sound, a look of shocked outrage frozen on his face as his blood spilled over and soaked into the plush rug beneath him. Alistair knocked the female unconscious with his shield and spun towards the abomination. "Get on the last one! He can still draw on the others' blood!"

Elissa found the remaining mage doing just that, murmuring the words of a spell beneath his breath as a thin, sparking trail of power emerged from the bloodstain on the carpet and crept near his fingertips. Elissa leapt over the bodies, slashing out with her sword. The mage scrambled back out of reach, shouting a single word of power that threw her back, knocking the wind from her when she slammed into the floor. Her sword flew from her grip and slid until it hit the wall, out of her reach.

The mage smirked, his hands rising up in front of him to summon a ball of fire. In an act of desperation that would have had Ser Gilmore shaking his head at her, she flipped her dagger in her hand and threw. The move left her without a weapon, but the blade sailed cleanly through the air and embedded itself into the man's shoulder. He fell back with a cry, giving Elissa the time she needed to clamber across the floor and retrieve her sword. The mage was struggling to his feet when she shoved the blade into his gut, all the way to the hilt.

She barely had time to register that he was dead before Alistair was yanking her back, shielding her from the sudden blast of flame that heralded the death of the abomination. He was slow in releasing her, shaking his head as if to clear it after taking the brunt of the minor explosion. "You want to pull your weapons out of that guy before the girl comes to?"

Elissa rolled her eyes and bent down to retrieve her blades. "He's _dead_, isn't he?"

"You turned him into a pincushion."

A low moan interrupted them. The girl was already conscious, scrambling back into a corner in sheer terror. Elissa started after her, but the girl wasn't going anywhere, blocked in with a wall at her back. With another moan, she leaned over to the side and vomited all over the floor. Elissa wasn't gentle, grabbing her by her curly blond hair and yanking her upright. She froze at the sight of wide green eyes swimming in tears.

"Please. Please don't kill me."

Elissa hesitated, her sword still poised against the maleficar's slender white throat. Sniveling, with her tears running down her face and her nose dripping, she looked like any young, terrified girl. Elissa had to forcibly remind herself that she was nothing of the sort.

"Those corpses you and your friends left in the hall didn't want to die, either," she said, her tone growing harsher with each word. "Those children cowering at the barred doors, locked in by the Templars, didn't want to watch their friends die around them. Give me one good reason I should spare you."

"You have no idea what it's like." The words were difficult to understand, with her face screwed up like she wanted to wail, her entire body shaking. Elissa saw a trickle of blood running from the spot where her sword rested against her skin and eased the pressure there, if only slightly. "We're _trapped_ here. The Chantry has taken everything from us. And the Templars, watching… always watching. We only wanted to be free."

"Nothing is worth what you've done to this place," Wynne said. She was trembling, her knuckles white on her withered old staff and her voice ripe with outrage. "_Nothing_."

The girl saw Wynne and began to sob, would have collapsed if not for the firm grasp Elissa still had on her hair. "Wynne! You have to understand! Uldred said it would be better for us. He said someone had to take the first step, a few casualties… we had no idea…"

"Uldred's behind this?" Wynne's lips had gone into a hard, straight line. "I might have known."

"Please… please don't kill me…" The girl went into total hysterics. They would get no more answers out of her. Elissa, even filled with revulsion and rage after all she had seen, knew she wouldn't be able to kill her now. A glance at Alistair told her that he wasn't going to, either. With a sound of disgust, she released her, slamming her back against the wall to help ease her frustration with the entire twisted situation. "Go on. I won't kill you, but I'm not helping you to escape, either."

Morrigan threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "She admits to this destruction in a sad attempt at an uprising, and yet you allow her to live. At least find some practical use for her, if you are so insistent on letting her go."

"Like what?"

Morrigan didn't answer. She stepped towards the mage, a predatory gleam lighting her eyes. While Elissa watched, a light glow began to surround the blubbing mage. Morrigan drew on it, beckoning it to her like a tiny stream trickling through the air, not quite gas and not quite liquid. The mage on the floor squirmed uncomfortably, gasping out loud. The flow increased, still weak, but traveling to Morrigan like a creek to a river, glowing brightly in the dim of the room. The girl sagged to the floor, whimpering. "What did you do? You stole what mana I had left."

"And I will put it to far better use than you have obviously chosen to do." Morrigan rolled her shoulders, looking like she had just taken a long, refreshing drink of water. Elissa shivered.

Alistair leaned over, muttering out of the corner of his mouth. "Did you know she could do that?"

Elissa shook her head, feeling a little shaken. "Get out of here."

The girl didn't need to be told twice, scrambling to her feet and fleeing as quickly as her legs would carry her. Morrigan glowered, shaking her head. "That was foolish."

"Wynne's barrier is still up, and the other mages will recognize her," Alistair said quietly. "Even if she did manage to get past them, Greagoir will know what happened. She's not getting far. Now why don't you explain to me how you learned to drain mana. That's a Templar skill."

"And a worthless one, particularly for someone who can't use it themselves." Morrigan regarded him coolly. "Not all magic users are helpless once you have robbed them of their power, Alistair. It may be prudent for you to remember that." She stalked away.

Alistair stood with an accusing finger still pointed at her, struggling for words. Finally, with a huff, he blurted out, "One of these days, I'm going to _accidently _drain her dry."

Elissa shook her head and cleaned her weapons by wiping them on the rug. "I wouldn't recommend it. Morrigan strikes me as being formidable even without her magic. She might resort to biting."

He grimaced. "She does come across as being a bit of a bone-gnawer, doesn't she?"

Wynne was silent, looking at Alistair with a hint of doubt. "You're a Templar."

"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect."

She smiled, but her eyes still looked troubled. "Forgive me. I didn't mean for that to sound quite as accusatory as it did. You just startled me. I wasn't aware the Chantry allowed Templars to join the Grey Wardens."

He chuckled quietly and began to follow Elissa down the hall. "Well, _allowed _might be too strong a word. Duncan was forced to use the Right of Conscription to pry me out of there. The Grand Cleric was not pleased. It was glorious."

Elissa stared at him. "You never told me that before."

He raised an eyebrow at her, curious at her anxious tone. "It didn't seem important."

"Why would they host a tournament for his benefit and then refuse to let you go? It doesn't make any sense."

"I wondered that myself. It's not as if she valued me highly. I think she just didn't want to give anything to the Grey Wardens, is all. She was furious when he pulled conscription on her—I thought she was going to have us arrested. Must be my charming disposition."

"Yes, I'm sure the Grand Cleric had a hopeless, obsessive crush on you. I was just wondering if it had anything to do with—" she paused, realizing Alistair probably didn't want his heritage announced in front of a complete stranger, "with your relatives."

"With my… oh. _Oh_." He stopped in his tracks. "I never thought of that before. Huh. It would make the look on her face all the more priceless, if it's true."

Elissa bit her lip. She didn't want to disenchant him by pointing out that if the Grand Cleric knew who he was, that meant someone had to have told her. It was looking more and more to her like Maric and Cailan had considered Alistair an heir, even if they never openly acknowledged him as one. It didn't bode well for his plans to remain an obscure Grey Warden for the rest of his life. Instead of opening up that whole argument, she turned to Wynne. "Who is this Uldred the mage spoke of?"

Wynne frowned. "An arrogant hothead. It all started when I returned from Ostagar. I was at that ill-fated battle and I survived, barely. I was in no state to travel, so I stayed at Ostagar to recuperate and help the wounded. Uldred, on the other hand, left for the tower almost immediately. When I finally returned here, I found that Uldred had all but convinced the Circle to join Loghain, the man who nearly destroyed us all!" She pursed her lips, still angry at the memory. "The alliance with Loghain would have been to the Circle's advantage; according to Uldred, once Loghain was in power, he would order the Chantry to give us more freedom. Well, I told the First Enchanter Irving what Loghain did on the battlefield. I revealed him for the traitorous bastard he is. Irving said he would take care of it. He called a meeting to confront Uldred, but something must have gone wrong. I emerged from my quarters when I heard the screams."

Alistair sighed. "All that time, we thought we were going to win. I believed Cailan, you know. A glorious battle, an end to the Blight. It seems everyone else had another agenda."

"Foolish ones, at that," Wynne said with a sigh. "Even if Loghain were to take the throne, the crown has very little power over the Chantry. Uldred was grasping at straws."

They were quiet for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts as they navigated the silent halls.

Then they heard Morrigan scream.

The sound sent chills running along Elissa's skin. She broke into a run, panic clawing at her lungs with every step. The room up ahead was enormous, lit by windows all along the ceiling, and it didn't take any time for Elissa to find the danger present. She slid to a stop. Morrigan was curled up on the floor, nursing an injured arm while an enormous figure in black robes towered over her. Its entire body seemed to be constructed of shadow, its features indiscernible beneath a weighted, elaborate helm. Elissa felt her limbs go cold as she shouted her warning. "Revenant!"

"Move!" Alistair pushed past her, running towards them and throwing up his shield just in time to catch the monster's enormous sword in the middle of a downward blow that would certainly have finished the witch off. His knees buckled beneath the force, nearly putting him down. "Liss! Get her out of there!"

Elissa grabbed Morrigan beneath the arms and dragged her back, not taking the time to be particularly gentle with her injured harm. She heard Morrigan hiss in pain as she let go, but didn't pause to make sure she was okay. Instead, she jumped over her legs, running to help Alistair.

"Get back!" he ordered when she came up beside him, but she ignored him, dodging to the side to take her position at the revenant's back. The creature was encased in ancient, heavy armor that would easily deflect her slender sword and dagger. She darted about, scuttling under a swing that would surely have cleaved her in half if it had landed, looking for the creases in protection that would give her an advantage. Alistair caught the swing on his shield, but it sent him stumbling back several feet. She heard an ominous cracking sound. "Damn it, Elissa, back off!"

"Shut up!" She had just spotted the opening between the edge of the helm and the breastplate that left a portion of the neck exposed. She aimed for the spot, relief flooding through her when the creature reared back with a screech of agony. It spun around, smacking her away with a gauntleted hand that felt more like an anchor hitting her shoulder. Elissa managed to roll with the blow, coming up in a crouch and braced on her hand. "Get between his armor!"

Alistair reacted immediately, his sword finding the crease at the shoulder. Together, they darted around, striking when the opportunity presented itself. Morrigan had managed to drag herself to her feet and kept the revenant slowed through magic, taking some of the burden off the two Wardens as they ducked and dodged the attacks from the brutally heavy sword. Elissa had just started to think they stood a chance when, without warning, the monster took its attention from her and changed direction, stabbing out behind it to impale Alistair.

She saw his beautiful hazel eyes go wide, the sword thrust freezing him in place. The blade went right through his armor and embedded just beneath his chest. No sound came from him as the revenant shook him off the end of the blade like nothing more than an irritant.

Elissa wanted to scream—at first she thought she was, but the sound choked in her throat, refusing to escape. She felt as if the world tilted, swirling downward into a void as her knees turned to water. The revenant whirled on her, but she couldn't even feel afraid, her terror and fury coursing through her in an imitation of strength. She was vaguely aware that her voice didn't sound like her own when she screeched, "Morrigan! Freeze him!"

The witch hesitated for only a moment, aware that Elissa was within the range of such a dangerous spell, but did as she commanded. Elissa didn't care. Her blood was running too hot to feel the cold as it whirled around her, covering the hideous black armor in a glittering sheet of ice. Elissa fell on her enemy in pure, undiluted fury, her razor sharp blades sliding up beneath the layered plates of the chest piece and finding their mark, digging deep. The revenant howled. There was a gust of wind, and then only silence.

She stumbled, the adrenaline spilling from her veins and leaving her shaking. She stumbled, falling onto one knee, her breath escaping her in heaving gasps while tears stung her eyes. She looked over to her fallen companion, but couldn't see him. Wynne knelt at his side, her back facing Elissa as she murmured frantically beneath her breath. A moment later, Alistair staggered to his feet, trying to steady himself. He shook his head with a quiet groan. "Is it just me, or did I do really badly right there?"

Her relief was so great she didn't think, just threw herself at him, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck, nearly knocking them both over in her exuberance before he caught her. "You're alive!"

"So I am." There was laughter in his voice, straining against a distinct hint of discomfort. "Still in pain, though."

"Oh! I'm sorry!" She dropped down, only reluctantly letting him go. She felt dizzy.

"I daresay that was actual emotion there," he said. He still looked pale, but was smiling widely in the face of her reaction. "Wow. You must really like me."

She smoothed back her hair, trying to pull herself back together. She must have looked utterly hysterical. "So help me, Alistair, if you tease me right now, I may very well kill you myself."

"Shh. I'm gloating." He laughed softly, pulling her back into a one-armed hug. Still shaking like a leaf, she hid her face in his chest. His voice dropped to a gentle murmur. "It's okay. I'm all right." He glanced down at the broken rings in his chainmail. "I probably need to be fitted for new armor, though."

"Better armor," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. She didn't want to look at anyone just yet. "_Much _better armor. Especially if you're going to insist on being a human shield. It's infuriating."

She heard him snort at that. "Whatever. You likeme."

… …

She knew it wasn't real.

She wasn't exactly sure _how _she knew. The walkway beneath her feet was solid, replete with cracks and bits of vegetation pushing up through the stones to indicate its age. She even recognized the looming fortress before her as Weisshaupt, but some vague part of Elissa's mind niggled that she couldn't _possibly _know that, since she had never been to Weisshaupt before. The knowledge gave the entire setting the surreal impression of a stage, able to draw her in, but not to convince her of its authenticity.

There was a stabbing pain behind her eyes, creeping along the base of her skull, making it difficult to concentrate. She shook her head, trying to focus, but her thoughts sloshed in her skull like water. She looking around curiously as she moved, trying to figure out why she felt so out of sorts.

Then she saw Duncan.

She stopped in mid-stride, staring at the Warden Commander. Her headache worsened, and she felt her hands unconsciously tighten on the hilts of her weapons. "You can't be here. You're dead."

Duncan laughed and gave her a kindly smile she had never once seen on his face. "Me? Dead? I've admittedly come close, but I assure you, I'm still alive."

"No—you're _not_." Elissa shook her head, rubbing one eye with the heel of her hand in an attempt to make the vision disappear. It remained stubbornly solid, but she wasn't fooled. Something was putting on a show for her benefit, an elaborate show that used her memories as marionettes in an attempt to trap her.

She remembered then—the demon. Her headache stemmed from the creature trying to violate her mind, combating to dig through her memories and change the dream into something that would tempt her more effectively than this sad imitation of a man she hadn't cared for that much to begin with. The pain in her skull grew nearly unbearable, crushing her temples and making her gasp, but Elissa knew that she had found a weapon against the attack. She held onto the grim memory of Ostagar, of waking up alone, of learning that Fergus had been killed through the actions of traitors…

At the recollection of her brother, the vision immediately began to waver. It blurred into mists and changed before her eyes. Slowly, the cold stone of Weisshaupt began to shift, melding into the familiar corridors of Highever. The sun was shining, gleaming across armor worn by the men that crowded the courtyard. She could smell the sea and feel the salty, damp air of the coast against her skin. She continued to fight, to drive the demon back and out of the secret places of her mind that belonged only to her, but with the vision of Highever came a flood of memories, handing her enemy the tools it needed to overwhelm her. She dropped to one knee, her hand curled in a fist against her forehead and a screech of rage in her throat, but the thoughts continued to pour out of her.

She was standing in her own room, surrounded by her books and paintings, Aiden taking up more than half of her bed as he stretched in the warm sun pouring through the window. Her longing to be home was so overwhelming that Elissa almost succumbed, wanting nothing more than to lose herself in the beautiful dream and go running through the corridors with Aiden at her side, laughing as she had done once upon a time.

Almost.

The sun and waves and welcoming warmth were not enough to erase the horrors that she had witnessed the night Arl Howe had betrayed them. Nothing in this world or the next could ever let go of that memory, of Oren's broken little body and of Ser Gilmore's eyes when he told her to run. This was nothing more than a lie that could not save her from the memories that haunted her every waking moment.

"Elissa?"

She felt a shiver of dread at the sound of the beloved voice, afraid to turn around and face it. Even still, she felt her father's warm hands come up to rest on her shoulders, his touch as familiar and gentle as it had always been. "What are you doing about of bed?"

Her mind was spinning, and she could feel the tears beginning to tighten in her throat. "What?'

"Come, my sweet—you're not well. You need your rest. Get back into bed."

Elissa scrambled away from the welcome touch, backing up against the wall. The memory of her father was so real, too real, even recalling the scar in his eyebrow and the flecks of gold in his eyes. "No. You're not here."

Bryce only looked worried as he stepped forward. "Your fever's returned. Come and lie down, and I'll send for the healer. We can read together, like we used to."

"No!" It was a screech, but she didn't care. She pressed herself further against the wall, drawing her dagger. "Stop it!" The image wavered, which was all the chance she needed. The demon had not anticipated that the scene would not soothe her, but instead bring about the strongest emotion she could summon—rage. This wasn't home, no matter how she wished it so, and her fury that the corrupted being would defile her memories was enough to send her rage spilling over. She struck.

For a fraction of a second, she could see her father's eyes, wide with surprise, before he drifted away. His voice faded on the imaginary winds before the vision shattered, exploding like glass all around her to reveal an empty, barren plane. She keeled over, fighting back the urge to be sick, weak and shaking all over. Slowly, she reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath, and determinedly moved forward, stepping further into the mists.

She had to find the others.


	20. Into the Fade

**Chapter Twenty**

_**Into the Fade**_

.

_Dreams are the answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask._

_~ The X-Files_

.

.

Elissa didn't know how long she had been wandering the Fade, confronted with puzzles and images of abominations and darkspawn until she could no long discern what was real and were simply products of her own horrid imaginings. When she finally found Wynne, she had to struggle to convince herself that it was actually the mage she was seeing and not the result of a desperate hope to finally be reaching the end of this nightmarish prison. Her only comfort was the knowledge that if her mind had truly been playing tricks on her, it wouldn't have used _Wynne_ as a means to trap her. She hadn't even realized just _who_ she had been so determined to find until that moment, when she found herself disappointed in discovering Wynne rather than the tall, familiar form that hadn't left her side since Ostagar.

The scene was strange. Disembodied walls that looked a bit like a painting of the library in the Tower stood against the uniform grey of the Fade, but she knew from her own experience that to Wynne, the poor imitation was so real she could probably smell the dust and mildew. The mage was standing perfectly still, her arms limp at her sides as she gazed around at the destruction with a hopelessness Elissa had not thought her capable of. All around them were dead mages. Recognition tugged at Elissa's brain until she realized she was looking at the bodies of the young mages and children she had seen at the tower entrance. Rather than the paradise the demon had tried to create for Elissa, it had chosen to trap Wynne in her worst nightmare.

The mage looked up as she approached, all the grief of her years reflected in her eyes. "I couldn't save them."

Elissa reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping that the warm touch would help to make her more conscious of the cold mists of the Fade. The entire plane carried a chill that seeped into heart and blood and bone, a clammy mist that didn't make itself truly known until the illusions had shattered. "You did save them, Wynne. Don't believe this. It's not real."

"Not real?" She sounded dazed, only half listening to Elissa's words as she continued to stare at the carnage with horrified eyes. "They trusted me to protect them, and I've failed them. All of them."

"No, you haven't." Elissa paused, flummoxed by Wynne's detachment. She hadn't anticipated this. She had discovered right away that she was being manipulated by the demon, and had expected the others to see the same with only a little encouragement, someone to point out what had seemed obvious. Especially Wynne, who she had expected to recognize the Fade immediately.

She tried a different approach. "Try to remember. We were in the Tower. The demon is making this up to try to keep you a prisoner here."

"Demons, yes. Demons everywhere, tearing apart all we have built stone by stone." Wynne nearly broke down, covering her eyes with her hands and taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I couldn't stand against them."

Elissa could only stand there, completely unsure of what to do. "But it's not _real._ These people are still alive."

Wynne dropped her hands and fixed an angry glare on Elissa. "I do not know what you are trying to tell me. Why must you make this more painful? And where were you when this happened? I trusted you as an ally and you were nowhere to be found."

Elissa felt her mouth tighten and willed herself not to give into her first impulse and snap at the woman. Being trapped in a nightmare was one thing. Blaming _her _for the nightmare was another matter entirely. She forcefully reminded herself that the woman was devastated and not thinking clearly at all. "This _hasn't happened_. There has been death, yes, so much death, but these children are still alive, Wynne. And they need you. I can't let you stay here."

"I find your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead utterly inappropriate."

"Wynne, you've got to pull yourself out of this!" Elissa barely restrained the urge to slap the old lady, stomping her foot in frustration. "This is the Fade. I thought you were supposed to be a mage. Can't you tell it's not real? If you don't fight, you're going to be trapped here, and then these children really will be left alone!"

Wynne turned her back on her, clearly angry with her for a failure she hadn't even committed. "Leave me to my grief. I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes to the four winds, and mourn their passing until I, too, am dead."

Elissa wondered what her odds of grabbing the woman and physically dragging her out of this place without getting blasted with magic were. Probably not good. It just _figured_ that Alistair wouldn't be around when she could really use those Templar abilities. She was more than a little tempted to leave Wynne to wallow in her grief for now and go look for him, but she wasn't positive she could find her way back here.

That was a bad thing, even if it didn't feel like it right now.

She shook off the frustrated notion and crossed her arms, trying to think. She didn't know what kind of effect being forced out of the dream would have on Wynne's mind, and so couldn't risk anything other than to try to convince her of the truth. Not that it was going well so far. She thought back to her own experience, trying to pinpoint exactly when she had realized where she was. Standing in front of Weisshaupt had simply been strange enough to make her doubt from the beginning. Maybe a hint of doubt was all she needed. "Wynne, please, just stop for a moment and think. Do you remember how you got here?"

"Of course I—" Wynne's objection died abruptly, her narrowed eyes going round as she stopped to consider. Her hands came up to massage her temples, and Elissa realized, with a stab of hope, that she was beginning to develop the same headache Elissa herself had suffered from when the demon ran into resistance. "We were entering into the tower... and then I remember that there was all this death about me. There was no sign of you, none at all. It was just me and... all this. I... I don't remember anything of them dying. I just know they are dead." She rubbed her temples harder, her brow furrowed in distress. "Why... why wouldn't I remember them dying?"

"Yes!" Elissa took the opportunity and pounced, going so far as to lay a hand on Wynne's arm to prepare to haul her away the moment the spell broke. "That's because you're not really here. This is the Fade. It's some sort of trick."

"But that makes no sense. I have always had an affinity for the Fade, and I would assume I would be able to recognize it."

Without warning, one of the corpses sat up. Elissa stepped back in pure disgust. Around the gruesome, twisted visage of the demon, she could see a vague, ghostly outline of the young boy it was imitating—the boy that Wynne could see. It spoke in a high, childish voice that made Elissa's stomach turn. "Don't leave us, Wynne. We don't want to be alone."

"Holy Maker!" The sight seemed to snap Wynne out of her stupor—Elissa saw her grip on her staff tighten. "Stay away, foul creature! Elissa, it's a trick!"

"You think?" she snapped, drawing her weapons.

The dead apprentice paid her no mind, concentrating on the mage that was slowly slipping out of its clutches. "Stay, Wynne. Sleep soundly in the comforting embrace of the earth. Do not fight it. You belong here, with us."

"Wynne, don't listen to it. It's just a demon."

Wynne backed away obediently, but she seemed to be having trouble keeping her eyes focused. "Stay? N-no. Not yet. My task is not yet done... it is not time yet."

"It's not your apprentice! It's a demon… oh, sod it all! Just keep me healed!" Gripping her sword and dagger, Elissa charged. The demon had been watching her, though, and instantly, the other corpses were on their feet, each one of them casting. Elissa's speed and agility had never been tested like it was during that battle, as she dove and rolled and scampered out of the way of spell after spell. Wynne had heeded her final order, though, and each time the fire came close enough to blister or the ice numbed her fingers and toes, she could feel the warmth of healing magic flowing through her, mending her hurts.

When it was over, Wynne approached her slowly, shaking her head like someone who was coming out of a dream. "I don't understand any of this."

"Neither do I," Elissa said, trying to gulp in air around the burning in her lungs. "I—" Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips. Wynne was disappearing, her image flickering and fading until Elissa could see nothing but a flash of panic in her eyes. Her voice was the only evidence that the whole encounter had not been another dream, echoing through the plane in obvious distress.

"Wait, where are you going?"

In an instant, she was gone.

Elissa put her hands on her hips, staring into the gloom as if she could will the mage to reappear. There was only the unnatural wind and the damp air—Wynne was nowhere to be seen. Elissa crossed her arms, tired and frightened and thoroughly _annoyed_. "Just what in the name of the Maker's shiny ass is going on here?" she demanded of the fog. It just remained obstinately silent, swirling thickly in defiance of her temper. She shook her head, marching forward into the misty depths.

If she had to ask, she obviously didn't know, which meant that whatever control she had managed to gain over the situation was gone.

… …

Alistair raised his arms as a couple of the boys went running past, moving just in time to keep them from knocking the knife out of his hand. "Hey, slow it down!" he called, unsurprised when they only laughed in response, the younger tackling the older into a pile of hay along the fence.

He only smiled to himself and shook his head, figuring it wasn't worth the argument as he got back to work. He lounged against the fence in the yard, whittling away at a piece of wood and watching the children scamper back and forth while Goldanna hung the laundry out to dry. Alistair couldn't really recall the last time he had carved figurines—life in the Chantry didn't allow a lot of time for hobbies—but his nephews regarded his modest talent as the perfect art, one that provided them with endless gifts.

For as far back as he could remember, Alistair had wanted this—a home and a real family, with people who cared about where he was and what happened to him. He vaguely remembered that his half-sister hadn't cared for him at all, once, but the memory was dull and better left forgotten in light of how much she had changed since then. He had been little more than a child, back when he first came looking for her. Of course she had panicked at the idea of one more mouth to feed. It was different now. He could work to bring in what coin he could, and help her to take care of the children, and the kids liked having him around, too. He was someone who had seen the world outside of Denerim, who could tell them fantastic tales of knights and dragons and all the other wondrous things he had seen as he fought against the Blight.

_ The Blight_…

"Alistair, I don't think this shirt can survive another mending," Goldanna said from across the yard, smiling to herself as she shook her head over his poor, abused attire. "Do you want me to make you another one, or will your friend take care of it?"

He laughed, the thought that had caused that uncomfortable chill in his stomach moments before disappearing as though it had never been. "Uh, Elissa's not exactly the domestic goddess that you are."

Goldanna seemed to find even this amusing. "No, I suppose she wouldn't be. No worries. I'll see to it. When are you going to bring her around, anyway?"

That was a good question, actually. He hadn't seen Elissa since…

Wait a minute, _there _she was. She appeared suddenly, standing at the gate like his thoughts had somehow summoned her there. His lips lifted in a smile as he went out to meet her. "I was just thinking about you!" Elissa didn't answer him, delicately lifting the skirt of the simple dress she wore like she had never seen it before, unsmiling and silent. She seemed almost… frightened. Alistair thought he detected a hint of paleness around her mouth and eyes, and he reached out, his hand brushing her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Elissa jumped, startled, which only increased his concern. "Are you all right?"

She still didn't answer, having caught sight of the figurine still in his hands. He sighed at himself for forgetting to leave it where she wouldn't see it, since he had meant it to be a surprise, but she held out a hand, silently asking for a better look. She turned it over and over before she finally raised questioning eyes. "You made this?" She didn't wait for an answer, muttering softly, "It looks like Aiden."

He felt his brows draw together, confused by her puzzled expression. "Well, that's a good thing, I suppose." She bit at her lip, looking torn, and he moved a little closer. "Liss, what's the matter? You're acting really strangely. You've seen me make this stuff for the kids all the time…"

Wait, that wasn't right. He stopped, suddenly feeling dizzy and off balance. His head was throbbing, making it hard to concentrate. Elissa stepped forward, placing a soft hand on his arm. For a moment, everything seemed to slide around in his mind, sickly and half-frozen as he tried to sort out conflicting memories, most of them too muddled to distinguish. Elissa cast a nervous glance at Goldanna and leaned forward, close enough that he could feel her warm breath against his ear. "You feel it, don't you?"

"Feel what?" he asked, careful to keep his voice as low as hers, though he couldn't explain why, except this pervading sense of _wrong _that had suddenly sprung up all around him.

Elissa glanced around. "Alistair, none of this is real."

He jerked away from her touch. "What are you talking about?"

Goldanna was suddenly beside him like magic, and everything slid back into place, suffusing him with the same contentment he had been feeling before Elissa showed up. "Is something wrong, little brother?"

"No, no, everything's fine," he said, trying to ignore the flash of disappointment and fear in Elissa's eyes. Everything _was_ fine. Perfect, even.

Goldanna seemed reassured, smiling at Elissa. "Well, here I thought Alistair was just being Alistair, going on and on about how pretty you are. You can't know how happy I was to hear that he has a girl—he needs someone to take care of him."

Elissa forced out a weak smile in return, but her eyes were on him. He could sense the anxiety coursing through her through the Taint that they shared, knew that she was fighting to keep calm and not immediately reach for her weapons instead. Another flash of insight lit his mind before he had a chance to be confused by her disturbing reaction—why was Elissa unarmed? She never went anywhere without her blades, even when she was relaxing. Not since… Ostagar…

"Are you certain you're okay?" Goldanna's hand on his shoulder was gentle, sympathetic. "You don't look so well. I think you might be falling ill. Why don't you come inside and I'll make you some tea?"

"I… I think I might be coming down with something." He glanced at his sister, feeling even more uncomfortable than before at the adoring way she was watching him. "I'll be in in a bit. Just… give us a moment, won't you?"

A gleam of something he didn't recognize went through her light brown eyes. "Don't be long."

Elissa looked relieved once his sister was gone. She glanced around the yard, watching the children as they played some game of their own creation that involved a lot of running, and he saw something else in her gaze—a hint of sorrow that he couldn't quite explain away. "I have to get you out of here."

"And where are we going to go?" He flinched back when she reached for his hand, confused and hurt and a little scared, because for all he was trying, he couldn't remember ever telling Elissa he had a sister. There was no way she could have found him here. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to spend my life fighting, only to end up dead in a pit along with rotting darkspawn corpses. I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn't. This makes me happy. I'm not going back."

She was beginning to get desperate, grabbing his elbow when he tried to walk away. "Alistair, please. We're in the Fade. We're being held here by a demon. You have to believe me. I can't do this without you." She was looking at him with those gorgeous blue eyes, pleading, and suddenly there was a flash of clarity: Elissa with her hair wound into tight braids instead of soft and flowing down her back, and wearing the chainmail shirt he had hardly ever seen her out of. The only reality was her eyes—everything else went soft and melted at the edges like a dripping candle. "Please. I need you."

It passed nearly as abruptly as it had come, but he stepped back in alarm, his headache coming back in full force. Goldanna was marching towards them, but this time Alistair could see the malevolent glow in her eyes, the sharp edge to her plastic smile. His sword was in his hand before his brain could protest, and Goldanna halted, her smile twisting into something sinister as she locked eyes with Elissa. "You can't have him! He's _mine_. I'd rather see him dead than free!"

The lie peeled back like old paint, revealing the dark, mottled skin and blazing eyes of the demon. Instinct sharpened by the pitiless fury of being duped coursed through Alistair. "Get back!" His concern for her safety was secondary to the anger he felt towards this monster that was leering down at him, mocking him for his stupidity. Elissa didn't listen, moving to position herself behind the demon, but Alistair didn't care. He only knew he wanted to kill this thing, wanted to take out the throbbing pain of his loss out on it until there was nothing left of it but a stain on the ground.

The demon fell at his feet in a matter of moments and he whirled around, only to find the children closing in on him. That quickly, the bloodlust abandoned him, leaving him shaking and unsure as they glided in a slow circle, moving to surround him and Elissa. She knew immediately what was wrong, her voice calm as she asked, "You can't see them, can you?"

No—all he could see were his nieces and nephews. He lowered his sword and backed away without answering. Elissa was quick to step in, understanding far more than he had ever wanted her to, her blades whirling in a gruesome dance of death. When it was over, he could finally see the small, skeletal forms that had been there in reality, but it didn't bring any kind of peace. He closed his eyes and hauled in a shaking breath. He couldn't bring himself to look at her just yet. "If you could… I'd rather the others didn't know just how easily fooled I was."

"I'm sorry, Alistair," Elissa said, her voice very soft, and he realized that she was vanishing, dissolving into the mists. He reached out, but his hand touched only air, Elissa's last words hovering around him as the world faded into nothing.

… …

Elissa had to admit, she was a little disappointed when she saw the tangled trees and misty bogs of the Wilds. She had half expected Morrigan's mind to create something far more sinister than the simple setting of her childhood, but then, most people would probably find the Wilds anything but simple. As she wandered about, searching for the witch, it occurred to her that the demon quite possibly couldn't delve any deeper into Morrigan's mind than this surface image in her memories. Of all of her companions, Morrigan was certainly the least likely to open her thoughts and memories to anyone. The demon was probably fighting against a wall of solid will to get even this much.

She could almost smile at the thought, thinking that the demon had certainly not anticipated someone like Morrigan. Her mind couldn't be the most pleasant of places to explore.

It wasn't long before she found the witch, standing in the clearing where they had met Flemeth. The crone was present, as well, speaking in a light, simpering tone that Elissa was positive had never once passed Flemeth's lips. Morrigan didn't look nearly as absorbed as her other companions had been, glancing around the clearing almost as if she were bored. As Elissa neared, she saw Morrigan roll her eyes, regarding the image of her mother in sheer annoyance. "Away with you. I shall have no more of your pestering."

"But I'm your mother," the spirit said as Morrigan began to study her fingernails, clearly unimpressed with the conversation. "Do you not love me?"

"You are as much my mother as my little finger, right here, is the queen of Ferelden. I know you, Fade spirit. You cannot fool me."

Elissa's relief was so great she felt the tension leave her back and shoulders, grateful she didn't have to pick an argument with Morrigan. She couldn't think of anything less appealing than angering the witch, but apparently, Morrigan was in absolutely no danger of succumbing to the vision. It seemed the demon had realized it as well, because its sad smile took on an ominous edge. "Surely, such pride must be punished." Flemeth stepped forward and delivered a solid blow to Morrigan's face that sent her stumbling back.

Elissa ran forward to intervene, but was stunned to see the witch smile as she wiped a thin trickle of blood from her lip with the back of her hand. "Much better, spirit, but 'tis too little, too late, I fear." She finally spotted Elissa running up the path and threw her hands up as if to ask what had taken her so long. "'Tis you at last!" She pointed an accusing finger at the image of her mother. "Come and rid me of this vexatious spirit."

"I'm coming!"

"Good. Kill it. Then we can be off."

Elissa stopped and stared at her for a moment, and then just shrugged and pivoted, moving quickly enough that the demon had no time to react. Her sword sliced cleanly through its neck. For one moment, Flemeth's yellow eyes widened in shock before the illusion shattered, revealing the true form of the spirit just before its head rolled from its shoulders and fell to the ground with a soft, sickening thud.

Morrigan shook her head. "Fade spirits, I ask you!" she said, kicking dried leaves and twigs over the corpse before she set them on fire with a point of her finger. "As if we haven't enough to deal with in this wretched Tower without serving to amuse a sloth demon! Vile creatures." She glanced up at Elissa, but her image was already fading. Morrigan looked down at her hands, heaving a sigh of pure frustration. "Oh, not again! I refuse!" She continued to dissolve, but Elissa could see the outline of her throw up her hands in irritation before her voice called out, echoing through the clearing as if from a great distance. "Find the center!"

She was gone.

Elissa stood there, blinking at the spot Morrigan had been standing. "Find the center? Oh sure, no problem. How difficult can it be to find the center of a labyrinth?" She groaned and kicked at a stone at her feet, swearing loudly when her toe began to throb.

… …

Not that difficult, as it turned out.

Elissa retraced her steps through the mists, trying hard to decipher where she had been. It wasn't long before she found the pattern of the paths she had followed, a series of circles that lead to a gate in the center. She peeked inside cautiously, but could see only rocks and stunted shrubbery, the shadowy image of the Black City haunting the horizon over the edge of the cliff. She took a deep breath and pushed the gate open, stepping carefully.

The demon lounged in the jagged rocks, regarding her curiously as she approached. "What do we have here? An escaped slave? My, my, but you do have some gall."

"So I've been told." Elissa's hands tightened on her weapons. "Where are my friends?"

"There are others?" The demon glanced somewhere over her shoulder. Elissa was afraid to turn her back on it for even a moment to look, but it wasn't paying any attention to her. She stole a quick glance and saw her companions, blinking in the light of the barren field.

Alistair shuddered all over, his armor rattling with the force of it. "Ugh. No more of that, if you don't mind." He glanced her way. "Oh, there you are! And here I am. Handy, how that works."

The demon smirked. "How nice, but playtime is over. You all have to go back now."

Elissa raised her weapons, circling slowly to give her companions time to join her. She could hear them moving, even if she couldn't risk another look. "Not a chance."

"But I'll do much better this time. I'll make you much, much happier. Just—"

It was suddenly cut off by Alistair's shield slamming him in the face just before chaos erupted around them. The demon stood, and seemed to keep standing, towering over them with its ghastly, skeletal smile. "You will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!" A wave of energy slammed into Elissa, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled back, looking up not at the skinny, robed figure of the demon, but an enormous ogre.

At least this fight, she and Alistair knew.

Elissa could barely think, driven only by instinct. The demon continued to change forms, sending out waves of magic that knocked her into the dirt again and again, but still she picked herself up and continued, keeping a careful eye on Alistair's movements as she darted around, her blades finding every weakness, ever chink in its armor, every tender spot of exposed flesh. Her muscles burned and her lungs ached as she fought, weariness threatening to slow her down, reminding her just how ill-prepared she was for a long, drawn-out battle like this. Only her fury allowed her to continue, goading her when she would have fallen. This wretched creature had trapped them, had used family and friends and _children_ as the bars of their prison. It had made her _stab her father_…

She felt Alistair standing behind her before she heard him. "Whoa—_whoa_! It's dead!" She didn't listen, pummeling the corpse of the creature in some attempt to force the anger to spill out of her, but it wasn't working. "Elissa!" Alistair earned the respect of everyone present when he stepped in and grabbed her arms, pulling her back. "Enough. It's over."

Elissa shuddered as she sagged against him, feeling suddenly cold, and tried to shake him off. "Get off me."

"Put the weapons away first."

"Alistair!"

"_Put the weapons away first_."

She did, exaggerating the motion with a glare over her shoulder. "Let me go. I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Tired." He sounded more than a little skeptical. "That was full-on berserker action."

"Well, maybe I'm a berserker and it just took me this long to figure it out."

Alistair's eyebrows drew together, his eyes filled with worry. "What did he make you see?"

"Nothing." She deliberately shook herself again. "Nothing important."

"Elissa…"

She never got to hear his argument. The world seemed to dissolve around them, and quite suddenly, she was waking up on the stone floor of the Circle Tower.


	21. Pieces

**Chapter Twenty One**

_**Pieces**_

_._

_Me and my friends understand the future_

_I see the strings that control the system_

_I can do anything with no resistance_

_~ Flobots_

.

.

Elissa was avoiding him.

While he was grateful that she wasn't being nearly as obvious about it as she could have been, he was still struck by the irony that he hadn't really understood just how comfortable their relationship had become until it was suddenly _uncomfortable_, unspoken words and new boundaries hanging between them like too much weight. At Wynne's excited discovery of the Litany of Adralla, a powerful incantation that defended against the mind-controlling capabilities of blood mages, Elissa had merely plucked the ancient scroll off of the recognizable corpse beside the body of the sloth demon and continued on her way as if nothing had happened.

But she still wouldn't look at him.

He felt an embarrassed twist in his stomach whenever he thought of the things she had seen and heard in the Fade, the worst possible audience to a stubbornly buried fantasy he hadn't even permitted himself to indulge in with any kind of frequency. And yet, he couldn't talk to her about it, wasn't even sure he'd know what to say even if they _weren't _surrounded by death and danger and the ruins of the Circle Tower.

It was even less fun in a trip that had already turned out to be a great, steaming pile of not fun.

Alistair could feel exhaustion seeping into his joints and muscles as they trudged up the final flight of stairs to the topmost floor of the Tower—he made a mental note never to let a mage kick him in the shins, as they all must have had legs like tree trunks—and tried very hard to convince himself that they weren't all dangerously exhausted and walking into trouble. They still hadn't slept decently since the battle to save Redcliffe, a battle that seemed like years ago, rather than a handful of days. Just ahead of him, Elissa was dragging her feet, looking grey and worn as she glared at the steps as if to say this was as much their fault as it was anyone's. The lower half of her braids were matted with some of the inexplicable slime that coated the walls and ceilings of the upper floors—a fleshy, foul-smelling substance that none of them had wanted to examine too closely.

He was aware that while the rest of them had remained blissfully ignorant during their time in the Fade, Elissa had spent that time seeking them out, fighting through the demon's prison and whatever monsters it had produced until she had reached the inner layers of the dream. Cautiously, hoping she was too distracted to feel the intrusion, he reached out with his senses, using the Taint in his blood to try to get a feel for her. It was a skill he hadn't exactly mastered, _trying _to feel out a fellow Warden's emotion rather than blocking them out for the sake of both privacy and sanity, but Elissa wouldn't tell him even if she was in trouble. She was tired, far more tired than he was, but her exhaustion soaked deeper than the scrapes and bruises and lack of sleep. That demon had taken something from her, stolen a bit of the life that had just recently begun to return to her eyes. He wasn't so dense that he hadn't figured out Elissa's vision probably had something to do with her family, but the insight didn't tell him what to _do_.

He saw the firm set to her jaw, the carefully blank expression, and recognized the girl he had met at Ostagar.

Part of Alistair hated that self-control, the expertly wielded shield that kept them all at a distance, including him. He had managed to find a few cracks here and there, bare glimpses that allowed him to see a girl whose eyes could sparkle with laughter and whose droll sense of humor matched his own wit, but she remained more enigma than woman in his mind. Curiosity—the kind that slaughtered cats in droves—kept her at the edge of his thoughts far more than she should have been, a puzzle to be solved, and that amount of consideration only led to more thoughts, which produced idle fantasies that turned into dreams that she _never should have seen, dammit_.

It was possible he was arguing himself in circles, here.

He was so busy cursing the circumstances that had put him in this awkward situation that he didn't realize they had finally reached the top of the stairs until the soft pink light washed over the faces of his companions, glinting off of the blade at Elissa's side as she peered around the small space. The room contained only a spiral stairway—_more stairs? Really?_—and a glowing, circular source of energy that hummed with a magic of a kind he had never felt before. In the center of the circle, he could make out a hazy figure that appeared to be on his knees.

Elissa started forward without hesitation, wearing the familiar expression of concern that most commonly managed to slip through her indifference, but he stopped her, distrustful after so many tricks and traps that his head was still spinning with the confusion of it all. "Wait a minute, you don't even know what that is."

She looked at him like he had lost his mind. He had to admit it was a possibility. "It's a templar."

"It _looks _like a templar."

"Alistair, he may be hurt," she said in that tone that somehow settled all of their arguments for them, mainly because she was going to act, rather than any agreement reached. He was quickly learning that the most he could do in those situations was follow along and do his best to make sure she didn't get herself killed in the process.

"Fine," he said, a bit more harshly than he had meant to, but he was tired and her stubbornness _did _get a little annoying sometimes. "But I'm _not _falling asleep again."

Determined though she may have been, Elissa wasn't without common sense, and as she approached the magical prison, her steps were cautious, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. The templar in the cage was young, barely more than a boy, really. As Alistair followed closely behind his companion, he could hear the broken, quivering voice coming from within the chamber, reciting the familiar words of the Chant of Light.

Elissa knelt down in front of him, sympathy written all over her face. "Who are you?"

The templar's reaction was swift and violent. In a flash, he was on his feet, backing away with his sword drawn, his eyes wide and hysterical. "This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will… stay strong."

"There's no trick," Elissa said, her voice perfectly calm, though Alistair noted the hand resting on her dagger twitch as she got to her feet, doing her best not to seem threatening. "We can help."

"Cullen?" Wynne sounded unsure as she emerged from the shadows, looking horrified. "Cullen, what have they done to you? Where are the others?"

"Wynne?" For a moment, the point of the sword lowered, but almost instantly, it flew back up, visibly trembling in the gleaming light. "No, no more visions! You're dead—they're all dead! If anything in you is human, kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others, but I will stay strong… for their sake…" Despite the words, he fell to his knees, his gaze cast upwards and his lips moving silently. Alistair didn't have to hear the words to recognize them, a desperate prayer to a god who had long since stopped listening.

Elissa tried again. "Please, they're not all dead. We can still save them."

"Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say. Now be gone!"

She turned to Wynne, silently pleading for her help, but the mage looked just as unnerved and had no advice to give her. "He's exhausted. This cage—I've never seen anything like it before."

"You're still here." The templar looked terrified at the sound of Wynne's voice, scrambling back and blinking rapidly. A filthy hand came up to rub his red-rimmed eyes. "But, that's always worked before! I close my eyes, but you're still here when I open them!"

"Cullen," Wynne said, purposefully firm as if she could _scold _him into believing her. She might have been able to, at that. At the sharpened tone, Cullen looked up at her, confused, and for a moment looking like a young boy being reprimanded. "Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred—where are they?"

"U-Uldred has them in the Harrowing chamber. The noises coming from there—oh, _Maker_." His shoulders began to shake, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Alistair turned away, the sight of the broken templar making him feel as if he were seeing something he shouldn't have, striking just a little too closely to an old fear buried inside of him.

Wynne turned back to Elissa, her jaw set. "We'll have to hurry."

At that, Cullen's ravaged face twisted in fury. "You can't save them! You don't know what they've become. They've been surrounded by blood mages, whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts." He clutched his head, rocking from side to side. "Digging, digging, spades of fire…"

Elissa reached out without thinking before drawing her hand back, her eyes filled with sorrow. Alistair didn't know which one he felt sorrier for, knowing Elissa's compassion was lost against such raving. She bit her lip and tried to make the templar hear her. "Please, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Hurt?" He was sobbing now, seemingly unaware of any of them. "She hurt. She was all I ever wanted. All I ever dreamed of. I heard her screams, but there was nothing I could do to save her. She laughed as she tore them apart, piece by piece. Blood and death and slime. It still had her eyes…"

Alistair could feel his blood freeze in his veins before it surged through him in icy waves. He had known, rationally, that the abominations had once been mages, but he hadn't let the knowledge in, hadn't allowed himself to see the full, eventful lives that had been shattered. He wondered about the girl the templar remembered, wondered if she had a quick smile or eyes that reminded of him the endless depths of the lake on a clear spring day…

"He's mad," Morrigan said from behind him, her words as curt and unfeeling as always. "You'll hear nothing more from him but this rambling."

"Leave him alone," Alistair said, his voice deep with warning. Morrigan only raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, but Alistair saw that the witch appeared slightly less callous than usual, shifting uncomfortably in the presence of the caged templar.

At the sound of Alistair's voice, Cullen looked up, his eyes searching as he considered him. Alistair tried very hard not to squirm, realizing that he would recognize another templar's presence. Something like hope flashed in the boy's eyes. "You have to end it, now! To ensure this horror is ended, to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there! It's the only way!"

He felt sick to his stomach at the words that echoed his own sentiments downstairs, falling from the lips of someone who had actually known them, who _mourned _one of them. For a moment, Alistair couldn't see Cullen at all, but himself, broken down to mindless ranting at the feet of strangers. He backed away, shaking his head. "We're not going to do that."

Elissa was looking at him. "We can't just leave him here."

"Elissa, you can't help him," he said with what gentleness he had left. "His hatred is too strong. He just had to watch all of his friends die."

She pressed her lips together and cast one last anxious look at the templar before she started for the stairway. "Let's go. We have to hurry if we have any chance of saving them."

Cullen's voice followed them up the stairs, resentful and accusing. "You don't know! I am thinking only of the future of the Circle, of Ferelden! I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore!"

_No_, Alistair thought as he drew his sword, following closely behind Elissa in preparation for the fight ahead. He didn't think he'd ever ignore the truth he'd just discovered, ever again.

…

Elissa could hear the agonized wails resonating through the Harrowing chamber even before they reached the top of the stairs and shoved the doors open, revealing the grisly scene taking place. The few surviving mages huddled in a corner while one of their fellows was dragged forward by abominations and thrown at the feet of a man that looked, for all appearances, to be human. They began to torture him, engulfing him in crackling, hissing magic as they taunted him, trying to force him to become another monster. Elissa drew her sword and swung it around, slamming the flat of the blade against the front of Alistair's shield with a resounding clang that made him jump.

"Little warning, please."

"Sorry."

The creatures dropped the mage, who collapsed to the stone floor, quivering and sobbing. All eyes turned their way. The human stepped forward, his arms crossed, smirking in the face of her daring. Elissa's eyes narrowed as she recognized the mage from Ostagar that she had first seen arguing with Alistair. "You're Uldred?"

He paused, sneering. "The new Grey Warden recruit. How very quaint. I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Uldred didn't think much of you then, and I certainly don't see your purpose now. "

She shrugged. "I'm not that concerned with impressing you. Or Uldred. Is there a reason you refer to him separately, I wonder?"

He smiled, and there was something sinuous and snake-like about the gesture. "Indeed. Allow me to explain: A mage is but a larval form of something greater. The Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when all we have truly done is reached our full potential." He turned his glare on the cringing mages, a look of disgust curling his lip. "Look at them! The Chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious."

"You're mad!" Wynne was trembling in her anger, her lips hard and her nostrils white. "There's nothing glorious in what you've become, Uldred!"

He laughed, his voice deepening into an overlapping chorus of guttural voices. "Uldred? He is gone. I am _more _than he was."

And then suddenly, Uldred wasn't Uldred. His flesh split down the center, tearing like an old sack to reveal the slimy, grey skin of the demon within him. It unfurled from the destroyed host in a vile imitation of being birthed into the earthly plane, rising higher and higher until it towered over them.

"Here we go," Alistair said before they rushed forward, ducking a magnitude of spells suddenly flying in their direction. Elissa's path was blocked by a leering abomination, but Alistair shoved his way through, intent on Uldred.

"Elissa! The Litany!" Wynne screamed over the chaos of ringing spells and clashing steel as the entire chamber suddenly erupted into a deafening roar of light and sound. Elissa reached for the scroll at her belt, but the abomination swiped at her with its sword-like claws, and it was all she could to do defend herself against it. Her blades flashed in the rain of light falling all around her, whirling as she took the abomination apart as quickly as she could, its spells sizzling against her skin and burning her eyes.

When it was felled, another took its place, and she turned, throwing the Litany towards Wynne. "Read it! There are too many!"

The delay had cost them. The mages crowded the chamber, but it was impossible to tell friend from foe, to discern which Uldred had managed to lure under his control while she fought the abomination. She could see no sign of her companions in the chaos, except the pride demon swiping and casting at something beneath her line of sight that she could only assume was Alistair.

She lost all track of time, cutting and stabbing her way through the confusion, until, without knowing how, she faced Uldred himself. Alistair was in hard melee with the enormous demon, bleeding freely from a gash on his forehead. Elissa ran and slid across the smooth stone behind the monstrous abomination, bringing the edge of her sword across the back of the knee, feeling as the sharp blades cut cleanly through skin and tendon. Uldred reared back, howling, his massive fist crashing down towards Alistair. He managed to get his shield in front of him, but the impact revealed the crack the revenant had left. The shield exploded.

Elissa ducked, sprinting between the demon's hobbled legs, her mind a blur of unconscious thought as she skidded to a halt and turned, stabbing her sword upward beneath the ribcage, the deadly edge seeking the heart. Uldred twisted at the last moment, tearing the sword from her hands as he stomped and raged in agony. Razor claws raked across her stomach, tearing through her armor and finding flesh with a gush of blood.

Elissa staggered back, the ground sliding out from beneath her. She was aware only of slamming into the cold stone of the floor, a salty, metallic taste filling her mouth before she managed to roll to her side, coughing up her own blood. Through dimming eyes, she saw Alistair grab her sword, still embedded in the monster's chest, and drive it home.

Uldred fell with a mundane thud, leaving only ringing silence in the cavernous chamber.

Alistair slid to his knees beside her, shouting for Wynne over his shoulder, his hands working feverishly at her sword belt to shove her chainmail and the shirt she wore beneath it out of the way. Elissa could see his hands, stained red and dripping, and she didn't _dare_ look down. Her vision began to blur, growing dark and cloudy around the edges.

"Elissa, stay awake." One hand pressed against the wound on her belly while the other reached up to smooth back her hair, bringing her eyes back to him. "Please, don't die on me."

She couldn't speak, was sinking into unconsciousness when she felt the warmth of healing magic filling her, tingling along the rending pain like a thousand pinpricks of light. Alistair came back into focus, Wynne kneeling at his side, still whispering words of magic that continued to soothe the flaring pain in her middle. Alistair sat back, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead, his eyes closed as he drew in a deep breath.

Elissa's tongue felt thick and slow, making her speech slurred. "Irving?"

"He's alive," Wynne said, her voice unusually gentle. "Don't speak just now. You'll be right in a moment."

Alistair opened his eyes and leaned over her, the hand in her hair gentle now. "Don't ever do that to me again."

She gave him a feeble smile. "I'll try."

…

Elissa was still weak as they made their way down to the barred doors. Alistair was supporting Irving, but kept casting nervous glances back at her, wary of leaving her in Morrigan's care. The witch had offered Elissa her support, draping one of her arms around her shoulders without a word said and a look that dared anyone to say anything about it.

Greagoir didn't waste any time—she had to give him credit for that. The moment he saw Irving, the doors were flung open, a whirlwind of activity surrounding the surviving mages. Those well enough healed helped those too weak to stand. The templars supplied part of their own stock of lyrium to bolster the healers' mana and tended to the less serious wounds with ointment and bandages. Elissa saw a pair of the knights supporting Cullen, unconscious in his brothers' arms.

In all the commotion, Elissa lost sight of Alistair.

The whole ordeal had been harder on him than any of them except Wynne, between killing the templars who were possessed and the experience in the Fade. Elissa knew that Alistair might have a bit of a crush on her, but she wasn't so vain as to think that she served any purpose in his vision except to provide a face for an old longing, to finally have someone he could call his own. Still, her involvement made his entrapment more embarrassing than the others', and she slipped away from the crowd to search for him.

She found him in the chapel, kneeling amidst the wreckage and ruin with no one else for company but a low, sputtering candle, murmuring words of comfort in the dark. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond…"

He stopped when she sat in the pew behind him, but refused to look at her.

"Please," she said softly. "Don't stop on my account."

"I doubt the Maker is listening. Not here."

He fell silent, and she looked around at the destruction, unsure of how willing he was to talk about this. "Did you know any of them?"

"No. But… I still knew them, if that makes any sense."

He knew the fantasies, she thought, sustained by the utter loneliness of being given away to a life of religious discipline against your will. Some of the templars, the ones who had chosen this life rather than being thrown into it, they were the ones who had died on their feet, their sword in their hands and the bodies of their enemies spread out around them. But so many others had succumbed to the visions.

After seeing him in the Fade, Elissa knew which of them Alistair would have been.

The silence felt heavy, and she could see the tension in him as he continued to stare straight ahead. He knew what she was going to ask next. Better to get it over with, she thought, than let this continue to linger between them. "That vision, about your sister—"

"Dreams," he said, suddenly cold. "Stupid dreams that I should have abandoned long before this. She hates me, my half-sister Goldanna. I tried to contact her once, when I lived in Denerim. She blames me for our mother dying. She all but chased me out with her broom when I told her I didn't have any money to give her. I'm just a bastard prince to her, as well."

"You're more than that to me," she whispered.

He froze momentarily, then finally relaxed, reaching up to rub his eyes with the tips of his fingers. "I know," he said at last, so quietly she barely heard him. He turned towards her, meeting her eyes for the first time. "How do you do it? How can you stand to keep going, after something like this?"

Elissa didn't have an answer for him. Sheer terror and a lack of options pushed her forward more often than not—it wasn't bravery on her part. He mistook her silence, laughing in bitter self-deprecation. "Oh, right. Because you're not as stupid as I am."

"For a moment, I wanted to stay there with you." She wasn't sure what made her say it. Alistair's head came up sharply, his eyes flashing to hers, unsure that he'd heard correctly. She didn't elaborate, but didn't flinch away from the look, either. There in the Fade, being part of a family again, at the side of someone she knew to be warm and caring, without any of the complications that would if they tried to carry that over into the real world—it had been difficult, so very difficult, to hold onto the knowledge that they were being lied to.

Instead of trying to explain, she slid forward and dropped to her knees beside him. "Please, keep going."

He reached down and squeezed her hand, his grip warm and strong, before he continued, "For there is no darkness in the Maker's light, and nothing He has wrought shall be lost…"

Together, they sought absolution.

…

Alistair waited on the edges of the hall, feeling impatient to leave and finally be rid of this forsaken place, but Wynne had insisted on following the Wardens, and was upstairs gathering her belongings.

Nearby, Elissa was talking to Irving, who was looking much healthier after a collection of healing spells and a short rest. "First Enchanter, is there any way you can spare someone to travel to Redcliffe Castle? I know that you've been through so much, but it's an emergency. There's a possessed child in need of help."

"A child?" Irving's bushy eyebrows drew together. "If he's possessed, there's nothing to be done for him, I'm afraid. The only way to withdraw the demon is if it still exists in the Fade."

"It does," Alistair said from his corner. "It's working through his body, but he hasn't become an abomination. Not yet, at any rate."

"I see." Irving looked inexplicably pleased by the news. Alistair thought that maybe he was as desperate as they had been to save even one more mage. "A child's life is of the utmost importance. I will take what mages I can find. We can reach the castle by morning, if we take the boats."

"Also, there's a mage at the castle by the name of Jowan. If possible, I'd like him to be the one sent in."

Irving's expression darkened. "Jowan is an apostate and a known blood mage. He might take control of the demon."

Elissa refused to back down. "He's prevented the demon from possessing the boy completely and kept it under control long enough for us to come here. He deserves a chance to redeem himself."

"You trust too quickly and too easily." He sighed. "But, I owe you a great debt. I will do as you ask."

"Thank you, First Enchanter."

Irving left, muttering to himself. Alistair pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to stand behind her, draping an arm over her shoulder. She leaned against him, closing her eyes and resting her head against his shoulder. She was still weak from her injury and desperately in need of rest. "Can we leave now?"

"Wynne looks ready to go."

They started towards the doors, passing Cullen, stretched out on a cot. He glared at Elissa through bleary eyes. "Off to save more monsters?"

Elissa opened her mouth to retort, but shut it, shaking her head. She pushed herself away from Alistair, headed for the doors with her head held high, unwilling to let the fuming templar see her weakness. Alistair watched her and had a single, bizarre thought that maybe, possibly, he was beginning to fall in love.


	22. Better Days

**Chapter Twenty Two**

_**Better Days**_

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_You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across the fields into your lover's arms can only come later, when you're sure they won't laugh if you trip_.

_~ Jonathan Carroll_

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Leliana disliked being left behind.

She particularly disliked being left behind with Sten, who had the infuriating talent of ignoring any and all of her attempts to speak to him for hours on end. She supposed trivial things like _manners _didn't hold a high level of regard amongst the qunari, probably forbidden by the Qun, or something. Instead, she and Aiden spent most of the achingly uneventful hours at the lake, watching anxiously for any sign of their companions.

When she tried to gain information from a reluctant Templar sent to retrieve his fellow from the dock, she received nothing more than a brief explanation, stating that due to unforeseen complications within the Tower, her friends were going to be delayed.

That had been a full day before.

As she waited, she indulged in a fantasy or two about storming the Tower herself and demanding answers, but there was a glaring flaw in her daring plan. The boat had not returned to this side of the lake. The Templars would not risk any more unexpected visitors.

Leliana had tried to convince Elissa to take her along, instead—surely barging into the Circle Tower with an ex-Templar and an apostate in tow had to make her a very unwelcome guest—but the Warden had been adamant. Alistair and Morrigan were convinced that the rumors of trouble in the Tower were only skimming the surface of the danger there. They both knew more about these matters than she did, Elissa said, and, grudgingly, Leliana was forced to agree.

She still didn't like it, and as she needlessly circled the camp for the hundredth time, she took to glaring at Sten with each pass, both envying and despising his indifference.

If she had to wait much longer, the lack of a proper boat wasn't going to seem like much of an obstacle anymore.

It was well into the afternoon of the second day, and Leliana had resigned herself to sitting in front of her tent, her chin resting in her palm as she tossed pebbles at an impressively fat slug to exercise her aim. She had just begun to consider changing her target to that frown line that slashed across Sten's forehead, wondering if _that _might tempt a reaction from him, when Aiden leapt to his feet beside her, his head cocked to one side as though he were straining to hear something. She paused, her hand frozen in mid-throw, peering at the dog though a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. Suddenly, Aiden bolted for the lake's edge, racing along the shore and barking like a thing possessed. Leliana got to her feet and shielded her eyes against the sun, looking out across the water. She let out her own cry of delight when she finally saw the tiny vessel plodding along the sparkling surface.

She raced after Aiden, down towards the dock. The others were already disembarking, and Elissa raised a hand and waved, laughing to when she saw her coming. The Warden was walking up the hill, but slowly, her arm gingerly wrapped around her middle. Alistair was beside her, carrying an older, barely conscious woman in his arms. Aiden reached them first, nearly knocking Elissa over as he rose up on his hind legs and planted two enormous paws on her shoulders, licking every part of her face he could reach. She heard Elissa's low, husky laughter as she greeted the animal, but it was strained and tired.

"Easy," said Alistair. "Leliana, get him off of her. She did her very best to get herself killed back there."

Leliana reached out and grabbed Aiden's collar, forcing him down as she resisted the urge to throw her arms around both of them, as well. Only Alistair's warning stopped her, bringing their haggard appearance to her attention for the first time. They both looked awful, utterly exhausted and filthy. Elissa's lovely black braids were matted with a substance she didn't recognize, and their armor was bloodied and severely damaged. Her heart started fluttering in her chest. "Maker's mercy, what happened? Who's this? Is everyone all right?"

Alistair shifted the weight of the woman he carried, lifting his knee to hoist her to a more secure position. "You don't mind too much if we sit down before the epic tale, do you? She's not getting any lighter."

She'd never been above letting her feelings show when the situation allowed, and she did so now, stomping her foot and glaring at him. "Ooh, don't tease me! I've been here for two days—you were just supposed to ask the mages for help! None of these wretched Templars would tell me anything and it's been terrible!"

He sighed, the joviality fading from his eyes. He looked so _tired_. "I'm sorry, Leliana. I promise we'll tell you every horrid and ghastly detail, but we've got to rest."

He started towards the campsite, but Elissa didn't make any move to follow him, looking over her shoulder. Morrigan was moving towards them, leaning heavily on her staff and hobbling slightly. She paused at the sight of Leliana, scowling. "Keep your distance. I saw the look in your eye during your last greeting."

Leliana would have scowled right back, but the sight of the witch had dimmed her dislike for her marginally. She looked pale and worn, and somehow smaller than she had before. Elissa waited until the woman reached her, slowing her pace to match Morrigan's as they made their way back to the camp.

Sten, showing more concern than Leliana would have credited him with, had already begun to unpack what healing supplies they carried. She saw him do a double take when he spotted the woman in Alistair's arms, his violet eyes following them suspiciously as Alistair ducked into his tent, emerging a few moments later alone.

Sten's eyes narrowed. "What was that?"

"A mage," Alistair answered, sinking down onto the blanket already spread over the grass.

"And you intend to keep it?"

Alistair rolled his eyes, scooting over a bit to make room for Elissa to sit down beside him. "Well, I could use the company. And I understand she's remarkably well-trained."

Elissa snorted a laugh. She had stretched out on her side, her head resting on Alistair's leg. Leliana raised her eyebrows, but both acted as if this new display of tenderness was perfectly normal. Not to be left out, Aiden had curled up as tightly as he could manage, pressed against Elissa's front as though he were afraid of letting her out of his sight again.

Sten frowned, shifting his focus to Elissa. "The boats can take us back to the castle. We have wasted enough time here."

Elissa shook her head, yawning widely before she answered. "The boats are ferrying the mages across the lake to save Connor. We're going to have to take the road back."

"We can make several miles before nightfall."

"Sten, I'm not moving from this spot, and I'm beyond caring how fiercely you want to glower at me for it. Just stick to your individual stoicism and we'll be fine."

Leliana half expected Sten to challenge her then and there, but he merely grunted as a response and passed her a roll of bandages.

Leliana sat down, tucking her legs beneath her and looking over her friend with a critical eye. "You need a bath."

"I know." Elissa's nose wrinkled slightly. "I stink. I need to eat as well, but I don't think I have the energy for either." She twisted her head to look at Alistair. "I give up. You're in charge. Wake me when the Blight is over, would you?" She turned back, closing her eyes.

Alistair was looking down at her in evident concern, reaching out to tuck a strand of her matted hair away from her face. "Are you sure you're all right?"

She yawned again, shuddering. "I'm sure. Just very tired."

He didn't look very reassured. Alistair gave Leliana a meaningful look, glancing down at Elissa and back at her again. She understood. He wanted someone to check her over.

"Come, my friend," said Leliana brightly, pulling the weary girl to her feet despite her groan of protest. "Let us go make you more presentable."

Alistair nodded his thanks before fetching his pack, likely headed to find a place to get cleaned up himself while leaving them their privacy. Leliana watched him go, wondering at the change that had sprung up between the two Wardens. It had been clear to her for some time that, regardless of Elissa's supposed indifference, Alistair was conquered territory and strictly off-limits. Yet, something deeper than casual attraction had taken root while they were away in the Tower.

She wondered if either of them even knew it.

…

Elissa winced as another sharp tug burned along her scalp. Leliana's muttered apology came from somewhere behind her, repeated often as the bard battled to sort out the tangled mess that was Elissa's hair.

She heard Alistair sigh loudly and felt a gentle pull as he shifted into a more comfortable position, sounding slightly more refreshed after a thorough wash and a change of clothes. "You realize that if any of those Templars see me messing with your hair, I'm never going to live it down. I'll be officially ejected from my own gender."

Another tug, more careful than the first, and she could feel the slightly ticklish shift across her head as Leliana handed him another lock to hold out of the way. "Perhaps it would do well for you to learn when not to speak, then, yes?"

The goop that had saturated Elissa's braids was proving more stubborn than she had imagined, sticking to the lower portion of her braids like glue, and no amount of scrubbing seemed to be able to get rid of it. Leliana had been trying to salvage her hair for over an hour, Alistair merely sitting nearby and providing a commentary out of sheer boredom before Leliana lost her patience with him and put him to work holding the bits she had managed to get clean. She was going through the strands with a fine comb in an attempt to _drag _the gunk out. Elissa yelped at another yank, her head sore from the amount of pulling she had already endured. "How bad is it?"

Leliana remained silent, which had to be a bad sign. She imagined the two exchanging a look, silently arguing over who was going to speak. "Well," Alistair said at last, "I don't want to call it a lost cause, but it certainly has all the characteristics of one."

"Oh." She swallowed. "This is ridiculous. Just cut it off."

Leliana made a small noise of protest, returning to the work at hand with an enthusiasm that made Elissa wince. "No, don't do that! I think I can at least get it braided again."

Elissa shook her head, as much to free her hair from Leliana's eager hands as anything. "Cut it off," she said again, hoping her distress at the order wasn't evident in her tone. It seemed silly to get upset over _this_ after everything else that had happened, but she had never cut her hair in her life. It was her one vanity; a blue-black mane of waves and curls that fell to her waist.

"Oh, Elissa, I think if we just—"

Surprisingly, it was Morrigan that came to Elissa's rescue, shoving Alistair aside to hand Leliana a pair of small silver scissors she used for trimming delicate leaves on her herbs. "You are not helping by prolonging the process. Do as she asks."

Leliana whimpered, but didn't protest further. She began snipping away the ebony tresses, working as carefully as possible to avoid cutting off any more than absolutely necessary. Even with her precautions, Elissa's hair reached just below her shoulder blades by the time she was done. The ends felt thick and heavy there, an unfamiliar line of weight brushing her back. She sighed.

"Well, 'tis far more practical, I must say," Morrigan said as she reclaimed her scissors. For the witch, she supposed it was a compliment of sorts, though it didn't go very far in making her feel any better.

"More practical still would be to fashion it more like the talkative human's," Sten said from the edge of camp. That wasn't helping, either.

"Don't listen to them. I think it suits you." Leliana reached up, running her hands through the front and flipping it to the side. "Actually, it suits you quite well. It draws more attention to your lovely face. All that hair weighed you down too much." She gave Elissa a gentle smile. "You will feel better after you have some food in you, my friend. There is a tavern at the top of the hill. We can afford for me to go and fetch something nice for our supper for a change."

Elissa wordlessly unhooked the money pouch from her belt and handed it over. After Leliana had gone, she ran a rueful hand through her hair and looked up to see Alistair ducking out of his tent, carrying a pillow under one arm and a worn leather book in his hand. She hadn't even noticed he had gotten up.

He tossed the book in her lap before dropping the pillow beside her and settling down the blanket. "I found that at the Tower."

She picked it up, but didn't look at it, raising a questioning brow. "What's this?"

"Is that a trick question?" He stretched out, yawning. Elissa supposed he would have to sleep outside, seeing how Wynne was occupying the tent for the evening. It was a good thing it was warm out. "The edges of the pages are a little singed, but it survived more or less intact."

"I thought you didn't want me collecting anymore books," she said, turning it over in her hands. She froze when she saw the cover. Beside her, she could sense Alistair smile, watching her as she ran her fingers over the familiar, embossed title. "You went back to the library for this?"

He shrugged, though she could see he was pleased with himself. "I remembered you saying something about your father giving it to you when you were little. I figured I had room in my pack for _one _more."

"I don't know what to say." She glanced at him, unsure how to explain how much the small gift meant to her. "I—" She stopped, eyes narrowing. "Is that my pillow?'

"Is it? I thought it looked familiar."

She reached over and tried to yank it out from under him, but discovered the hand he was supposedly using to support his head had a firm hold on it. "Alistair!"

"Wynne's in my tent, and your pillow smells better than mine, anyway."

"Give it back!"

"Can't hear you. Sleeping."

"Fine!" Elissa lied down perpendicular to him, resting her head on his stomach. "I'll just sleep here, then."

He yawned again, wider this time. "Nice try, but if you're trying to make me uncomfortable, you're failing miserably." He shifted slightly to better accommodate her.

Elissa eagerly opened the book, flipping through the pages. As she read, his hand inched over to touch the ends of her hair. When she didn't object, he grew bolder, letting his fingers gently drag through the freshly washed tresses. The soothing motion was nearly hypnotic, as was the soft, even sound of his breathing when he finally succumbed to sleep. The words began to blur together on the page, and Elissa left the book open on her chest, thinking to close her eyes for just a moment. She hadn't realized just how close to collapsing she was.

She was asleep before Leliana got back with their supper.

...

Elissa woke just before the dawn, the cool of the morning brushing quietly through her hair. Sometime in the night, someone, probably Leliana, had tossed a blanket over her, leaving her feeling comfortable despite the chill damp that lingered around the lake. She was aware of Alistair still lying beneath her and had felt just a little bit guilty—she hadn't actually _meant _to fall asleep on him. She sat up and stretched, still feeling the heavy eyelids of someone who had slept too hard for too long. Behind her, Alistair roused slightly, letting out a quiet groan as he rubbed his middle. Too late, she remembered the injury he had taken only recently. "I'm sorry!"

"Your fine," he murmured, still drowsy. "I've learned a valuable lesson in purloining a lady's pillow. Go back to sleep."

She looked to the horizon, which was deep blue with the first hint of day. "We should get up."

"You can if you like, but you're going to have to do it without me," he said, but pulled her down next to him, scooting back a little so she actually had use of her pillow. She didn't resist. "Go back to sleep."

She spotted her book lying nearby and picked it up, hugging it to her chest. She hadn't realized just how fearful she had been, after her experience in the Tower, reluctant to draw up any memories of her past, dreading that they had been forever corrupted by the vision the demon had summoned. She closed her eyes, the damp air and cool breeze reminding her of her open window that overlooked the sea, and in her mind, she could hear her father's voice as he sat at her bedside, telling her stories. Quietly, she curled closer to Alistair, whispering, "Thank you."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, his arm slid around her waist, drawing her against him. "You're welcome."


	23. Ambush

**A/N: **_Sorry for the extra week between updates. Let's just suffice to say that my computer is not only showing signs of abnormal intelligence, but is also possibly an evil genius. _

_Thanks again to Mackillian for the intense beta this chapter required._

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Three<strong>

_**Ambush**_

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_I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice._

_~ Abraham Lincoln_

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.

Alistair was confused.

Which wasn't exactly a _new _development, he supposed. He seemed to live most of his life in a perpetually muddled state, more than happy to remain oblivious if it meant he wasn't expected to think too hard about anything. He simply had never been the type of man who bothered to worry about being more than he was. He never challenged himself to sound more intelligent, or vexed himself over the grace and charm he saw in other knights that he so glaringly lacked. He was a fighter, a damn good fighter, and that was enough for him. If he was never to serve as anything more important than a pawn in a larger game, so be it. At least in this game, he knew the rules.

Duncan had gone and kicked over the table on him the instant he brought Elissa Cousland to Ostagar.

Even exhausted and dirty as she had been when she suddenly appeared behind him in the ruins, Alistair had never been in such close proximity to such an elegant looking woman in his life. Her delicate features and flawless skin labeled her as a noble as effectively as a sign draped around her neck. Under normal circumstances, he would definitely have shied away, content to let himself go unnoticed by someone of her upbringing. Keeping an eye on her like Duncan had instructed him certainly didn't call for any real amount of conversation. But then he saw those eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—staring at him through a mask of pure misery, and he was doomed. Kinder people called him compassionate. He knew it was the polite way of telling him he was a sap.

They weren't wrong.

The problem was, as time went on and he and Elissa continued to grow closer, he was suddenly aware of all those little shortcomings of his in a way he never had been before. He was roughly reminded of a stretch of time that came a couple of years after he entered the Chantry, when he had suddenly realized that girls were—well, _girls_—and suddenly things like tame hair and personal hygiene became all-important. Only this was a hundred, a _million_ times worse. Every word that came out of Elissa's mouth, her refined accent and extensive vocabulary, reminded him of how very different they were. Never mind that she possessed a very uncomplicated sort of demeanor, not to mention an outright common temper, that had allowed them to get along so well thus far. He had now convinced himself that it wasn't good enough, not if he wanted her to see him as something other than her friendly sidekick. He had to have some sort of strategy in place if he had any chance of winning her over.

Problem was, he couldn't really think of one.

He hadn't really had any experience with the opposite sex since he was a teenager, back before the resignation of the Chantry had managed to sink in and considerably lessen the number of girls willing to let him steal a few kisses behind the stables. If Duncan had been the sort, Alistair would have sworn he set him to watching Elissa on _purpose_ just for the pleasure of watching him flounder about like an idiot.

Still, he had to try. He knew he already cared for Elissa more than was probably wise. His concern for her safety had begun to override common sense, urging him to protect her even though he knew rationally that she was perfectly capable of handling herself. But she also felt something for him—he had seen it in the softness of her eyes, had felt it when she touched him. And she _liked _touching him. He was certain he had a chance, if he could only overcome his own awkward nature.

_Right_.

… … …

Elissa yawned widely as they made their way back down the Imperial Highway on the way to Redcliffe. She wasn't exactly tired, and certainly not suffering from the fuzzy exhaustion she had for the past week or so, but the late afternoon sun and the gentle breeze was lulling her into a comfortable kind of drowsiness. She was looking forward to stopping, even though she knew they still had quite a bit of ground to cover before she would be able to.

The path cut in a straight, purposeful direction around the lake, leading between two hills, each heavily forested and dark in the setting sun. Given the amount of bandits that were still wandering the roads, she forced herself to wake up and stay alert. Around her, the others were also dragging themselves out of a lethargic kind of daze. It had become second nature for all of them to anticipate the worst.

At least they hadn't been disappointed so far.

They hadn't gone very far when Elissa saw the figure, barely visible in the darkened shadows of the trees. A woman was running down the dusty roads towards them. Her skirts were hiked up as she ran, her blonde hair flying wildly in the wind and tears staining her face. She nearly collapsed when she reached them, gasping for air. "Darkspawn! Please! Our cart's broken down—we can't fight them!"

At first, Elissa was confused, wondering how darkspawn could have entered the area without them noticing, but a low growl in Aiden's throat warned her that something was amiss. The birds were chirping brightly overhead and squirrels chattering to each other as they leapt from branch to branch—a group of darkspawn was generally synonymous with complete silence, nature itself holding its breath as it waited for their tainted presence to pass. "Lead the way," she told the woman, but didn't follow right away, instead sliding a sidelong glance at Leliana to see if she shared her hesitation. The bard was shaking her head, her lips twisted in a knowing smile. She had apparently reached the same conclusion as Elissa.

Alistair, however, seemed puzzled by the lack of immediate action. He looked back and forth between them. "What is it?"

Elissa gave him a look that clearly told him to keep his voice down. "Did _you _sense any darkspawn?"

He blinked several times. "No."

"Neither did I."

His eyebrows drew together as he glanced at Leliana. She shrugged in response to the unspoken question. "I do not require the skills of a Grey Warden to know when someone is lying to me."

"So," he said, finally catching up, "trap?"

"Trap," both women said simultaneously.

He uncomfortably shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking down the road. "You still want to go in?"

"We can't very well go back," Elissa said, glancing around with a sigh. "They've blocked the only path, and if we leave them here, they'll only attack less prepared travelers later. We've dealt with bandits before."

Alistair still looked unsure, but couldn't seem to come up with a counterpoint, and so with a sigh, he drew his sword, apparently willing to follow her lead. Beside him, Leliana also looked nervous, but she readied her bow without argument. Elissa could understand that walking into specific danger wasn't the most pleasant of options, but she drew on what knowledge she had of previous encounters and tried to reassure them. "If they're taking the trouble to send bait, they're ready. My guess is they're going to try to flank us, with the hills here. Sten and Wynne go right, Leliana and Morrigan left. Alistair and I will take the middle. Don't hesitate and let them get into position first. Just rush in. We'll meet in the middle."

She was a little surprised by how much she actually knew. She'd been feeling for weeks like she was constantly caught off her guard, hurled into circumstances beyond her ability to control. A small kind of reassurance came with the realization that at the very least, she seemed to be learning something. With clear orders, her group appeared slightly more relaxed, as well, with the exception of Sten, who only looked relieved to finally be meeting the challenge head-on, rather than taking the long way around.

They followed the woman down the path. Around the next bend, the road opened up into a shallow gorge. Elissa first spotted a figure waiting amongst a litter of broken down carts and slaughtered livestock. She couldn't clearly see him at this distance, other than a glimpse of blond hair and features that appeared to be elven. At first, she thought she might have been mistaken, and that the caravan was taken by darkspawn after all, but at their approach, the figure raised a hand in a silent signal.

That quickly, they were surrounded.

This wasn't the group of shoddy bandits from her imaginings. An ominous creaking sound warned her of a triggered trap, and she looked up just in time to see a tree leaning precariously in their direction. She heard Alistair swear in resigned kind of way as the party scattered out of the way. The trunk fell across the road, effectively blocking them in. Well-armed, fully armored arches ran along two ridges on either side of them, nocking arrows as they went, and she was grateful that she had taken the time to issue a strategy before walking into this. Her companions were already in motion, running up the ridges on either side of the gorge towards the archers. She and Alistair dashed forward, toward the woman who had lured them here and the strange elven figure, who were being joined by a couple of hired thugs from behind a cover of rocks. With a gesture, Elissa sent Aiden after them. He raced ahead, his sharp teeth bared in a snarl that had the bandits backing up.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elissa could see Leliana throw an arm out in front of Morrigan to keep her from walking into a tripwire. The caster was forced to stay at the base of the hill, throwing her spells from a distance as Leliana frantically tried to disarm the traps that riddled the ground. Just as Elissa began to think she should have gone with Morrigan and left Leliana with Alistair—she was stronger in melee than Leliana was—Alistair dropped low and dragged her behind his shield as a rush of flames sprung up around them. She raised her arm to protect her eyes from the searing heat, squinting at him in the tumult. "Was it a trap?'

He shook his head. "She's a mage!"

That made it simple, at least. "You take her; I've got him!"

They broke from their cover at the same moment, Alistair sprinting for the women in the back, following Aiden's lead and hopping another tripwire before he reached the woman. Elissa went for the elf, who looked nothing but pleased as he drew two wicked-edged blades, shouting out a final order to his rabble. "The Grey Wardens die here!"

Before the surprise of that could sink in, Elissa was in full melee with the elf, fighting as hard as she ever had in her life. He was fast—every bit as fast as she was—twisting and spinning as she combated to parry a flurry of ruthless attacks, all aimed for a killing blow. She had never faced anyone so skilled, and found herself backing up against the onslaught, trying to find her footing. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and shifted her stance, picking up speed. Even then, every blow was met with the clang of metal, but at least the elf was no longer smiling, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he tried to break through her defenses. Elissa forced herself to pay attention, to try and get a feel for the fight so that she could find a weakness. Eventually, it occurred to her that he had almost exactly the same style she did, using his body as well as his weapons to strike out and try to throw her off balance. She saw him spin on his heel and immediately ducked a spinning kick aimed at her head. His moves were familiar enough that she began to move in, countering each attack nearly before he could make it, but he saw her tactic and came to the same realization she had. They were completely evenly matched, hammering away at each other in a dead-locked competition.

Well, she had one advantage he didn't.

She waited for the low swipe she knew was coming by the subtle twisting of his foot, catching the swing on the side of her sword before she stepped back and kicked straight out into the elf's groin. He froze, his eyes going wide as he dropped to his knees with a pained groan, and she wasted no time before she grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into her upraised knee, knocking him unconscious.

Alistair had already killed the mage and was fighting the remaining two attackers, both of whom seemed panic-stricken at the sight of Morrigan's explosive spells lighting the ridge. An arrow protruded from his left arm; she could see him struggling to hold up his shield. Aiden was doing what he could to protect his weakened side, keeping the other attacker at bay, and Elissa started forward to help. Before she could reach him, a whirlwind of frost blew past her and engulfed the second attacker, freezing him where he stood. Alistair immediately took advantage of the unexpected reprieve and beheaded the other.

The other four companions were already running towards them. The fight was over. Elissa worriedly looked over each of them to see what kind of damage they had taken, but everyone looked perfectly healthy, save for a few singe marks on Sten's armor. She figured he must have run right through the traps set for them.

Alistair swore again as he glanced at the arrow in his arm. He reached up to break it off, but the angle was too awkward. Without a word, Elissa stopped him and broke it off as close to the wound as she could, flinching when he hissed in pain. "Is it bad?"

"No. Just annoying. I hate archers."

"We'll see to it when we make camp."

"I'll be fine." He moved toward the unconscious elf, his sword still tight in his hand.

At the last minute, Elissa realized what he meant to do and hurried to stop him. "Wait! Don't kill him!"

Alistair paused over the prone form, but made no effort to sheathe the weapon. "Why not?"

"This was an ambush set specifically for _us_. I'd like to know why. Tie him up, instead."

Alistair frowned, but lowered his weapon and caught the rope Elissa tossed him. He yanked on the rope a little more roughly than was strictly necessary as he bound the prisoner's hands behind his back. When he straightened, Alistair nudged the body with his foot. "Well, now what?"

Elissa unhooked the waterskin from her belt and unceremoniously dumped the contents on the elf's face.

He woke up coughing and sputtering before his head fell back with a dramatic groan. "_Dios mio_, my head." The words were slurred and half-muttered, but the accent was clear. She and Alistair exchanged a startled glance. An Antivan?

The man looked up at them through unfocused eyes, revealing a face with high cheekbones accented by a sweeping tattoo and a mouth so soft and well-formed that it was almost girlish. He was extraordinarily handsome, or would have been, if not for the two brilliant black eyes blooming. "I rather thought I would wake up dead, or not wake up at all, as the case may be." He squinted, trying to bring them into focus. "I have never taken a knee to the face before. I will admit, the experience of being manhandled by a woman was most stimulating—before the concussion, that is."

"That tends to happen when people jump her," Alistair said, crossing his arms, his frown darkening.

"Undoubtedly." He started to sit up, but Aiden planted his front paws on his chest, snarls ripping from his throat. The man froze, offering up a doubtful smile. "Nice doggy?"

"Aiden, here!" Elissa said. Grudgingly, the dog obeyed, but his ears remained flat on his skull.

The prisoner rolled to his side, looking around at his dead companions with mild interest, and tugged at rope that bound his wrists. "Ah, so I am to be interrogated! I am, of course, in no position to argue, but allow me to save you some time. I am Zevran Arainai—Zev, to my friends. I was sent to fulfill a contract on the two Grey Wardens who had the audacity to survive the slaughter at Ostagar. Which I have failed at most spectacularly, it seems."

His complete lack of concern for his predicament was beginning to get on Elissa nerves. She felt her eyes narrow on him. "My heart bleeds for you."

He conceded that with a tilt of his head. "It turned out rather fortunate for you, most certainly. For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career, and the Crows are not forgiving."

The name meant nothing to Elissa, but she heard Leliana gasp and turned to her, more than happy to get some answers from someone other than the glib assassin. "Who are the Crows?"

"An assassin's guild, and one of the best. They are infamous in Antiva. Someone paid a great deal of coin to hire this man."

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, well aware of the only person in Ferelden at the moment who might have had the resources to spend a fortune on an assassin to rid himself of a mild nuisance. She shot a nervous glance at Alistair, but he wore a strange, grim smile, apparently pleased with this turn. She turned back to the assassin. "Who hired you?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital city—Loghain, I think his name was?" He idly tugged at the ropes again. "This is a rather cunning knot. I am quite impressed. You would not mind if I move? I find myself losing feeling in my extremities, and that may become overly distracting." Before she could even answer, he rolled, bringing his arms around beneath him to settle in his lap. "Ah, that's better. Where were we?'

"Why are you telling us all this?" asked Alistair, baffled by the assassin's demeanor. Elissa saw his hand tighten on his sword hilt.

"Why not? I was not paid for silence, not that I offered it for sale, precisely. As it is, if you're done with the interrogation, I've a proposal for you. If you're of a mind."

Elissa raised an eyebrow, too curious to let such an intriguing comment go unnoticed. "I'm listening."

"Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."

She glanced around at the corpses that surrounded them. "I'm having a hard time seeing how you might be of any use to me, to be honest."

He laughed beneath his breath, indifferent towards the insult. "As you have good reason. But I am skilled at many things, stealth and fighting, for example. I also know a great many jokes. Twelve massage techniques, six different card games? I would do wonderfully at parties, no?" He looked up into Alistair's glower and offered him a brilliant smile. "I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer."

Elissa snorted, bringing Alistair's glare back to her. She shrugged. "What? He's funny." He crossed his arms, giving her a dark look, and she shook her head. "Sorry, Zevran, but I can't risk the same kind of loyalty that you've shown Loghain thus far. We have enough of our own problems."

Zevran was quick to scoot after her when she started to turn away, sliding along on his backside in the dirt. "I happen to be a very loyal person, up until someone expects me to die for failing. That's not so terrible, is it? Unless you are of the same opinion, in which case, I don't come very highly recommended, I suppose." He laughed again.

"You must think we're royally stupid," Alistair said, his posture settling into a sulk. He kept glancing at Elissa nervously, apparently worried about the direction this conversation was taking.

The assassin's mouth curled into a small, suggestive smile, blatantly leering at both of them. "What I think is that you are royally hard to kill—and utterly gorgeous. I could think of worse things than to be held captive by two beautiful specimens such as yourselves."

Elissa could practically _hear _the look on Alistair's face at that little announcement and didn't dare look at him. "What would you ask in return?"

"Well, being allowed to live would be nice. And would make me marginally more useful to you. Beyond that, I request only to be allowed to go my way once you have no further use for me."

Elissa was still for long moments, thinking. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her, the displeasure emanating from most of the group nearly palpable. Only Leliana appeared less than hostile towards the elf, but given Elissa's knowledge of what it meant to be a minstrel in Orlais, she hadn't expected a great deal of argument from her. The assassin was clearly skilled, and likely had knowledge in darker arts that could come in handy. "Untie him."

"_What_?" Alistair's arms uncrossed in sheer incredulity as he stared at her. "You're taking the _assassin _with us now?"

"If you want to kill him, Alistair, _you _do it," she said, and then turned to Leliana. "Untie him."

As Leliana knelt to do as she said, Alistair yanked Elissa aside, out of earshot of the assassin. "Have you lost your _mind_?" he asked, his tone completely devoid of the teasing note that usually accompanied his doubts regarding her sanity.

She didn't know how to explain it to him, that ever since the night she had fought her way out of her home, she had killed and killed some more until she didn't know who she was anymore. She wasn't just sparing the assassin—some small part of her was trying to feel human again, rather than a servant of death. She didn't say any of it, though, but snapped, "Anytime you want to take the lead, Alistair, you're more than welcome to it."

He stepped back, something in her expression making him wary. "What? Lead? Me? No, no, no. No leading. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know, I'm stranded somewhere without any pants."

It was ridiculous, that he would say something like that right then when the conditions were so poor for laughter, and especially for trying to make her laugh.

How Alistair always managed it, anyway, she didn't know.

He smiled, obviously pleased with himself for diffusing her temper, but remained unconvinced, watching the Antivan with enmity he made no attempt to disguise. He heaved a sigh. "Elissa, are you really, _really _sure about this?"

"I can't kill him."

Though he glanced skyward at the quiet admission as if calling on the Maker to witness this folly, he seemed to understand, or at least to _want _to understand. "In that case… I trust you. But I warn you, if he so much as twitches the wrong way he'll be fertilizing some remote patch of forest somewhere." He looked at the assassin again while shaking his head. "I think if there was ever a sign we were desperate, it just knocked on the door and said hello."

Zevran struggled to his feet with Leliana's assistance, and then rubbed his wrists with a small wince. "I believe my first act will be to teach you how to properly tie up a prisoner, my dear. Numbing the victim's limbs does very little by way of proper interrogation."

Alistair grumbled beneath his breath.

Zevran only smiled and offered Elissa a graceful bow. "I offer my oath of loyalty until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear."

… … …

Zevran was no stranger to death. He had seen it in all shapes and forms, had delivered it countless times in ways both mundane and creative, depending on the situation. But this—a grotesque exhibition of destruction infected with the scent of decay and terror, combined with the peculiar odor of sharp darkness that the Fade demons left behind—this he was not familiar with. In the ruined castle, his new companions stepped around the bloodstains and signs of gore, evidence of battle that had yet to be cleared away with the bodies.

He glanced at the hated rope that again bound his wrists at the insistence of the petulant templar, wondering what kind of danger he was being led into.

As they moved deeper into the castle, the disturbing indications of mass murder began to grow less and less common. They were within corridors that had obviously been inhabited for some time, and here and there, Zevran could see servants working at scrubbing the floors. He said nothing, only watched as he was led upstairs into what was plainly the family's quarters.

A man with thick brown hair and gentle eyes was the first to greet them, hurrying out into the corridor to take Elissa's hands in what appeared to be genuine gratitude. "You're here! I had worried that with everything else going on, you would not be able to return."

"It's good to see you again, Teagan. We needed to check on Connor. And, if it's not too much to ask, we could use a place to rest for a few days."

"Of course! We would be happy to offer you shelter whenever you have need of it." The man's eyes rapidly took Zevran in, landing for a long time on the rope tied around his wrists. "And… who's this?"

"A nuisance," Alistair answered for her.

Zevran decided he had had enough. Allowing the boy to think he held some sort of control would only lead to trying to convince him otherwise later, and Zevran had not the time nor the inclination for such a useless endeavor. "Allow me to clarify," he said, careful to keep his irritation from seeping into his tone. "I am Zevran, an Antivan Crow hired to kill the Grey Wardens. I have forsworn the contract against them in exchange for my life." He smiled at the look Alistair gave him. "There. Now that we are all acquainted, I think we might dispense with this." With a sharp twist of his wrist, the rope fell away.

The look on Alistair's face was laughable, but Elissa just raised an eyebrow, giving away nothing of what she was thinking. In the short day he had spent in this company, he had begun to realize that she was much shrewder than her companion, no matter that they seemed inordinately close. She didn't comment on his freedom, instead turning back to the noble. "How's Connor?'

"He's well," Teagan answered with a tired smile. "Irving and his mages performed the ritual immediately. He would like very much to see you and thank you himself, if you would follow me. Redcliffe owes you a great debt, my lady."

The talk died away as Teagan left the hall, talking to Elissa the entire time. Alistair shot Zevran one last dirty look, but pressed his lips together to keep whatever retort he was forming locked away and turned to follow after his woman.

Once he was gone, Zevran let out a long breath and flopped into a nearby chair, wincing. He was sore and aching all over—the elder mage had quite deliberately skipped him when she was tending to wounds the previous evening. He let his head roll back and closed his eyes for a long time, but sat up when he heard the quiet footsteps approaching. Leliana sat down next to him, handing him a cloth she had soaked in cold water. "For your eye," she said with a small smile. "I'm sure Elissa can convince Wynne to offer you a more effective treatment eventually."

Zevran didn't answer as he pressed the cold cloth to his swollen face. If the Warden was going to allow him to live, he thought, she might have been less thorough in the thrashing she gave him first.

Elissa came down the stairs then, alone. She nodded towards Leliana in thanks. "I was coming to see to that myself. We'll have to find Bodahn and see about getting him some supplies."

Leliana smiled. "I thought someone should welcome him before Alistair's glowering drove him away. It is a good thing to have a Crow with us. He should see that the decision was a practical one."

Elissa sighed and glanced over her shoulder at the stairway, a small line of concern appearing between her eyebrows. "He'll get over it," she said, though she didn't sound all that certain about it, herself. She turned back, her blue eyes meeting Zevran's with a frankness that he admired. "Don't push him."

Zevran laughed. "Ah, my beautiful Warden, believe me when I say I have been on the frightening end of your swords quite enough for one lifetime."


	24. Expectations

_**A/N**__: Howdy, folks! Sorry for the loooong break. I had some major health issues crop up in the past couple of months that are just now beginning to sort themselves out. The good news is, it made me realize how much I missed writing this story._

_Also, I am __forcing_ _my beta to take a vacation this week, so I apologize ahead of time for mistakes in here. Feel free to call them out if you see them—I won't be offended._

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>

_**Expectations**_

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_I like her because she smiles at me and means it. _

_~Anonymous_

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There began the long task of recovery.

The castle was cleared out, all those who remained taking count of the handfuls that had survived. There was a mass funeral—despite the numbers of dead, Bann Teagan insisted on sending each and every victim to their rest by way of giving their bodies to the lake and setting the boats aflame with arrows, as Redcliffe custom dictated. At the castle gates, droves of townsfolk waited and worried for news of their missing loved ones. The sound of wailing grief was heard all over Redcliffe for many nights before silence finally fell.

Elissa remained for all of it.

Whether out of a desire to help these people or for his sake, Alistair wasn't sure; he only knew that he did _not _want to leave his childhood home when it was in such a state of turmoil. There was little they could do to help, but Teagan seemed genuinely glad of his company.

And still, Arl Eamon did not wake up.

It was a day grey with heavy, dark clouds when Teagan finally called Elissa to the arl's bedside. The lushly decorated room was dim, the grey light of the day barely seeping in through the cracks in the shutters and encouraged by a few scented candles the arlessa had placed about the room to try to mask the stink of medicinal plants and long illness. Isolde sat on the edge of the bed, running gentle fingers through her husband's iron-colored hair. "The ashes," she said almost to herself. "The Sacred Ashes will cure him."

Elissa remained silent, though Alistair got the impression she was trying not to roll her eyes. This had been an ongoing argument between the two women since they had returned to Redcliffe. Isolde saw nothing at all wrong with expecting them to hunt down a mythical relic before continuing on to gather the armies against the Blight, and was both annoyed and insulted by Elissa's refusal to comply with her wishes. Isolde clearly had no real experience in dealing with someone like Elissa, stubborn and practical and unaccustomed to taking orders from _anyone_, even if the arlessa _had_ been inclined to offer a solution more credible than chasing a legend.

Alistair steeled himself against what he was sure was about to dissolve into another round of bickering between the two when Teagan unexpectedly spoke up in defense of Isolde's proposal. "If I may, my lady, I have taken some time recently to study the information sent by this Brother Genetivi in Denerim. He appears to have genuine evidence of the existence of the Urn."

Elissa forestalled her temper, looking at Teagan in surprise. Teagan had been nearly as adamantly against the idea as Elissa, and he looked a little embarrassed now as he explained his reasoning. "None of the magical methods have had the slightest effect on my brother's condition, and he is not a man given to fancy. If he was willing to fund this scholar's research, I had to assume he had a logical reason for it. I took the liberty of reviewing the correspondence from Brother Genetivi. I must say, it does appear to be… promising."

Elissa shifted her weight, tugging at her bottom lip. "How promising?"

"I think it might be worth at least traveling to Denerim and speaking to this man." He looked at his brother, something faintly desperate in his eyes. "I think we are out of options at this point."

Elissa heaved a sigh and let her head roll back, staring at the ceiling as she thought it through. Elissa and Teagan had already developed a considerable measure of respect for each other in the short time they had known each other, and his change of mind had obviously caught her off guard. "I…need some time to think about this, my lord. If you would excuse me?"

Elissa left the room, her arms crossed and her head lowered, apparently deep in thought. From behind him, Alistair heard Leliana sigh softly. "We'll talk to her, my lord. Elissa is not unreasonable, and she holds your opinion in high regard."

Teagan shot Leliana a pathetically grateful look. "I would be much indebted to you, my lady. I understand your circumstances and the need to gather your armies, but I am frankly at a loss what else to do. I need your help."

"And you'll have it. I promise you that."

Alistair raised his eyebrow at the exchange, but was at least wise enough to wait until they had left the room before muttering to Leliana, "Elissa's not going to be pleased that you're siding with this scheme just because you have a crush on Teagan, you know."

Leliana gave him a look of annoyed innocence that was nowhere near as convincing as she probably thought it was. "I have always believed that we should search for the Urn. Elissa is strangling her faith with sheer stubbornness and letting her dislike for the arlessa blind her to it." She tossed her hair. "And I do _not _have a crush on Teagan!"

"Be more defensive, Leliana. Besides, seeing as he was looking at you like Andraste returned, I don't see why you're getting all hand-fluttery about it."

Leliana snorted and began to pointedly ignore him, but her resolve didn't last very long. "Really? Has he said anything to you about me?"

Alistair gave her a _look_. "No. But I could pass him a note if you like."

She glared at him. "Ooh, stop teasing me!"

"You make it ridiculously easy, you realize. But what _are _we going to tell Elissa? She's pretty dead set against this."

"We?" Leliana gave him one of those bright, vengeful smiles only females managed to accomplish effectively, batting her eyelashes.

Alistair stopped in his tracks. "Oh, no you don't. You're not dumping this on me. I'm not that sure it's the best idea, either."

She grew serious, a delicate line appearing between her eyebrows in faint confusion. "I thought you wanted to find a cure for the arl more than any of us."

"Of course I do! But… this is the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Leliana. It's been lost for centuries, if it even existed in the first place. I'd give anything to see Arl Eamon recover, but Elissa and I have an obligation to stop this Blight. That _has_ to come first."

"Teagan only asked that we look into the research of this Brother Genetivi, though, yes? Surely, that can't be too much trouble. We would have had to travel to Denerim at some time. Now is as good a time as any." She didn't hesitate long enough to give him a chance to think, instead dropping behind him to put her hands on his shoulders and steer him towards the stairs. "Come, now, Alistair—you know very well that Elissa doesn't listen to any of us the way she listens to you. You are the one who will have to convince her of this. I have complete faith in you."

Alistair was already on his way upstairs before he realized he'd just been completely outmaneuvered.

… … …

Elissa was on the second floor, lounging in a space that had been furnished as a small sitting area beside a large, picturesque window. She had her shoulder braced on the corner of the wall right beside the frame, gazing out at the view of the lake. Alistair was so busy worrying about how he was going to approach her that it took him a moment to realize she wasn't alone. The Antivan was with her, perched on the window sill and sharpening the edge of a deadly-looking dagger. Elissa didn't seem concerned by this rather unnerving pose—she was smiling while Zevran spoke in rapid Antivan with the flourish of a man aware of his rapt audience. Alistair paused, a little bit confused, but Elissa was listening too intently for someone who didn't understand what was being said.

He came forward slowly, admiring the way the golden rays of the setting sun played across her hair, which cascaded in soft curls down her back. She laughed, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, making them glisten pink in the soft light.

Maker's _breath_, she was beautiful.

He cleared his throat. "Elissa? Can I talk to you for a second?"

She greeted him with a smile, but Zevran remained stubbornly planted where he was, folding his arms across his chest and clearly unhappy with the interruption. Alistair glared, not really in the mood to engage in a contest for Elissa's attention against the creepy assassin. "That's Fereldish for 'go away.'"

Zevran's eyebrow went up, but Elissa was quick to intervene, putting a gentle hand on Zevran's arm before he could form what was guaranteed to be a snarky retort. "Zev, give us a minute, would you?"

So, it was Zev now, was it? Alistair met the assassin's cool glance and scowled retreating form, quick to steal his position on the sill before his newfound nemesis could think of a reason to come back. It didn't take a genius to see that Elissa and Zevran were more similar in nature than he had thought possible. They got along quite well for people who barely knew each other, though Alistair suspected that was more Zevran's doing than any real effort on Elissa's part. It seemed like every time Alistair turned around, the assassin was _there_, hovering around Elissa like a self-imposed shadow, making her laugh and being all witty and charming and making her pay attention to _him_ until Alistair was tempted to throw something both large and heavy at him.

He might not have been able to outmaneuver Zevran in a battle of wits, but he took some solace in the idea that he could probably squash him, if need be.

He turned to Elissa, disconcerted to find that she was watching him. He fervently hoped the tenor of his wandering thoughts hadn't been apparent on his face as he struggled to come up with an excuse for his hostility towards the assassin. "Um. You never told me you spoke Antivan."

_Nice save. Moron._

She shrugged one shoulder, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She had such pretty hands. "I don't. But I'm fluent in Orlesian, and the languages are extremely similar. It's not difficult to understand." She gave him a knowing look out of the corner of her eye. "But that's not what you want to talk about."

"No," he said, forcefully setting his rising jealousy aside for the problem at hand. In truth, even though he told himself that his real duty was to the Grey Wardens, part of him desperately wanted Elissa to decide to travel to Denerim so that he could agree without having to ask for the massive detour. At least then he could reassure himself that he had tried to save the arl, a worry his conscious wasn't likely to let go of anytime soon. Convincing Elissa of that would be the real trick. "I wanted to talk about Denerim."

She let out a small breath, her gaze fixed once again on the window. "So did I. Do you really think we can spend that kind of time on this search?"

Alistair paused, careful to make sure he was giving her an honest answer rather than let his own feelings respond too quickly. That Elissa respected and valued his opinion wasn't something he took lightly, no matter how torn he was. "It's no small favor Teagan's asking," he said at length, a little unwillingly. "It's at least three weeks from here to Denerim, and that's provided nothing goes wrong. Considering the general run of our luck, it's probably stupid to assume nothing will go wrong."

She nodded, not answering, and began to slowly pace back and forth, thinking. It was a habit she had only recently acquired, the pacing, and not one he cared for much. Right then, he was just nervous enough to say something about it. "Please stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?" she asked, distracted.

He reached out a hand and tugged on her arm to bring her to a halt. "You're making me dizzy."

She scowled, but relented and settled herself beside him. "Tell me honestly," she said after a while. "What chance do we have without Arl Eamon?"

That was a question he knew the answer to immediately. "Not a good one. You saw the people's reaction to us in Lothering. Even those who may not necessarily want our heads on pikes still aren't going to lift a finger to help us. Loghain's been Ferelden's hero for too long for anyone to believe us over him."

She sighed softly. "I suppose we don't have any choice, then. Maker's breath, I can't believe we're doing this."

He nodded, looking out at the familiar lake and mahogany hills with a sinking feeling in his stomach. "We can go to Denerim and see if this Brother Genetivi has found anything that actually looks legitimate. If not… then I'll understand if you want to call this whole thing off."

She studied him carefully, her eyes softening a bit. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"

"It is."

She drew in a breath, the set to her shoulders telling him that her mind was made up. "We'll go, then, and see what happens."

… … …

Once the decision was made, Elissa moved quickly to secure the means for the journey to Denerim. The very next morning, she bullied a fair amount of coin out of Isolde and sent the rest of their companions into town to see to repairs and supplies while she and Alistair closeted themselves in her room, sifting through the items they had to see what could be salvaged and what could be left behind. Weeks on the road had accumulated into a jumble of belongings—empty vials, armor and weapons that had been collected in case they could have been of some use later, assortments of potions that needed to be separated and labeled before they were repacked.

Alistair tossed a scroll that had been too badly burned to read into the pile of throwaways and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Why is it everyone else gets to spend a sunny day in town while we sit here sorting through trash?"

Elissa shrugged one shoulder, engrossed in studying a packet of herbs—an arduous task to an eye that wasn't as finely trained as Morrigan's. "Because we're the Grey Wardens. Someone has to do the boring stuff." She turned the packet in her hand. "Hmm. This could either be dried elfroot or deathroot. I should probably ask, huh?"

"Probably." He reached over and took it from her, tossing it into a pile of things neither one of them could recognize. "You should have gotten Leliana to help you. She has a better eye for this kind of thing, and she was in here most of the morning, anyway."

Elissa glanced up, fixing him with an exasperated look. "Stop complaining. She was in here because she needed to talk, and she was upset enough that I didn't want to repay her confidence by putting her to work right afterwards."

"Oh, but it's fine to do it to me." Her words had a second to sink in and he glanced up, a little concerned. "What was Leliana upset about?"

"Teagan," she said, her eyes skimming a slip of parchment before she crumpled it her hands and tossed it into the pile. "She came to confess to me where she really came from. She was a bard, and she's afraid of how people are going to react to that."

"Okay." Alistair waited for further explanation, but none seemed to be forthcoming. "Is Teagan that averse to music?"

"An _Orlesian_ bard, Alistair."

"I _know _that. The accent kind of gives it away." At the look in her eye, what she was saying finally reached him and he found himself staring. "Wait—you mean a _bard _bard? The ones who work as spies and assassins and evil mistresses of seduction? _That _kind of bard?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "I knew there was something she wasn't telling us. I just wasn't sure what it was." She gave him a brief glance, apparently amused. "And you've been reading _way _too many stories."

He huffed and looked pointedly around at the collection of Elissa's books piled in various sections of the room, but didn't comment. "Still, _Leliana_? She's all smiles and giggles and ribbons. I can't imagine her killing anyone for a hire."

"She's also skilled and graceful and unnervingly observant. I can't say I'm that surprised. Do me a favor, though, and don't tell her that I told you any of this. I'm not that sure I was supposed to." She looked up from her work as if a new thought had just occurred to her. "You're not going to have a problem with her over this, are you?"

"Who, me? Of course not. I was just feeling a lot better about having her around, actually. Especially since you insist on letting that assassin roam around free."

"You've _got _to let that go. And speaking of letting go, how did we manage to collect so much _junk_?" She reached over to the pile of things he had been setting aside to keep and picked up a dented helm, spinning it in her hands before presenting it to him as if proving a point. "What is this?"

"_That _is a perfectly serviceable piece of equipment we might hate ourselves for throwing away one day. We could use it or sell it—"

"Or plant flowers in it and turn it into a lovely bird feeder. It _goes_, Alistair."

"Oh, really?" He raised an eyebrow at her and pushed himself to his feet. "Fine. Let's talk books." She scrambled forward with a sound of protest, but he reached the heavy satchel beside her bed before she could, dumping the contents onto the floor with a loud clatter. "You don't need all of these."

"Yes I do!"

He crouched down beside the pile, idly picking through the collection. "Let's see what's in here, shall we? '_A History of the Nobility of Ferelden_.' This is nothing more than a list of your relatives. Gone." He ignored her squawk of protest, tossing it into the rubbish pile. "'_Discovering Dragon's Blood: Potions, Tinctures, and Spicy Sauces'_—because we certainly need another reason not to trust Morrigan. That can go, too. '_The Guerrins of Ferelden.' _Okay, you just _stole_ that one, so we'll be giving it back. '_The Rose of Orlais.'_" He paused for a moment. "Actually, you go ahead and keep that."

Elissa laughed and snatched the book from him, carefully setting it aside while he picked up a strange looking tome bound in black leather. It appeared to be very old, decorated with runes and sigils that sent an unpleasant shudder up his spine. "Ick. Where did you get this and why did you keep it?"

She shrugged, winding her hair into a knot and blowing a stray strand out of her face. "At the Circle Tower, in Irving's office. It looked interesting."

"It's horrifying." He flipped through the pages, not surprised to see a collection of circles and unfamiliar letters. Elissa was watching him curiously, apparently waiting for him to explain the strange contents. It amazed him, how much credit she was willing to give him. Fortunately, this was something he knew a little about. "It's a literary form of the arcane. Apostates have passed it down through generations to keep the Chantry confused."

She only seemed to grow more interested at the idea. "Can you read any of it?"

"Not really. The Chantry doesn't know enough of it to teach. Apostates are good at what they do." He squinted at the open page, turning the book sideways. "I think this word is 'therefore'. Or possibly 'no'."

She chuckled and took it back from him. "I'll have Morrigan look at it."

He sighed his disagreement with _that _decision, but another book had caught his eye. "What's this?"

Elissa's reaction was immediate. He ducked to the side just as she made a grab for it, twisting around and holding it just out of the reach of her outstretched arms.

"Give that back!"

"Why, it appears to be a journal. In _your _handwriting."

Elissa growled in frustration, launching herself at him. He laughed, keeping the book just out of her reach as she wrestled to get it away from him. She was strong—much stronger than she had been, and he was hard-pressed to keep her restrained without hurting her. She was faster than he was, anyway, scrambling out of his reach and twisting free until they had managed to scatter the organized piles into a cluttered mess. He finally managed to pin her down, trapping her hands against the floor on either side of her head. "Surrender."

"Shan't."

"I'm not letting you up until you admit defeat."

She smiled slowly, a mysterious, sly gleam in her eyes that sent his pulse inexplicably racing. "I guess we're going to be here for a while, then."

Her hair was sprawled out all around her, soft and cool against his fingers. Her skin was delicately flushed from the exertion and her full lips parted slightly. The look in her eyes deepened, warming his skin wherever they roamed. The urge to bend his head and kiss her was nearly overwhelming, making his heart stutter in his chest.

Slippered feet suddenly appeared in his line of vision, one of them tapping impatiently against the floorboards. Alistair looked up to find Wynne standing over them, her arms crossed and looking none too pleased. He cleared his throat and scrambled back. "Oh, hello, Wynne. Didn't see you there."

"Obviously." She frowned, glaring at the disaster around them. "What are you two, cats squalling with love in a barn? I thought I was going to have to break up a fight in here."

Alistair coughed, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks, but Elissa only craned her neck and grinned up at the mage, not at all contrite. "It's all part of my cunning plan. I was lulling him into a false sense of complacency."

Wynne sighed, shaking her head. "Next time _lull_ him with a bit less violence, if you please. I'm quite sure he wouldn't object."


	25. The Road to Denerim

_**A/N**_**: **_I'm still not certain about this chapter. It feels like filler to me, but so far I've cut approximately 8,000 words from these last two updates, and it's starting to feel like I might be gouging into opportunities for characterization. So, I don't know. But, I've convinced myself a lot of the familiarity that develops in this crew happens on the long trip to Denerim, so here it is. Feedback would be very much appreciated, as I'm compiling this story into a downloadable PDF and I'm still debating on whether or not to cut this.  
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_Also, it took me so long to get this chapter finished that I didn't have time to have it looked over, as I really am trying to keep to my once a week updating schedule and I was already behind. However, my next chapter went to my capable beta as of about twenty minutes ago, so next week will not only be on time, but will be all clean and shiny and make sense and stuff. Imagine that._

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>

_**The Road to Denerim**_

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_There's not a word yet_

_For old friends who just met_

_~ The Muppets_

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.

Alistair did not like Zevran.

Forgetting for a moment that the man was an _assassin_—at it was highly disturbing to him just how easily everyone else seemed comfortable doing just that—hardly anything that came out of the elf's mouth couldn't be taken as some form of innuendo or another. He openly flirted with everyone in camp, _including_ Alistair, which made Leliana giggle and Morrigan threaten daily to freeze of parts of Zevran's anatomy that Alistair was _sure_ he was very fond of. He was still waiting for her to make good on that threat. It wasn't like Morrigan was a shining example of tolerance.

As if the flirting wasn't bad enough, he told outrageous stories by the fire that were just this side of inappropriate and made Elissa laugh—which Alistair couldn't help feel was _his _job—and as he watched her grow more and more fond of the slimy bastard suddenly his gentlemanly approach seemed old-fashioned and juvenile and _stupid_.

Alistair's only condolence was that Elissa still seemed to like him more, even though during the first week on the road to Denerim, even that was put into question. She had been moody all day, taken to long bouts of brooding and snapping at people with hardly any provocation at all. Being the empathetic soul that he was, Alistair thought to rectify the situation by brightening her mood.

It wasn't exactly working.

"Yeah, that story just gets funnier every time you tell it," she interrupted him in mid-anecdote, rubbing her eyes. She was looking up at the late afternoon sky as the two of them rode at the front of the cart, Bodahn and Sandal already napping in the back. Alistair raised an eyebrow, but she didn't seem to notice, something heavy and uncertain weighing around her before she shook her head as if shaking off a stray thought. She glanced his way, her expression softening marginally. "I'm sorry. I seem to be in a mood today." She reached up and rubbed her eyes again with more force, scrubbing them with the palms of her hands. "We may as well just make camp here for the night. No point in leaving the lake behind us when we're not sure to reach another water source before nightfall."

"I'll see to it," he said.

She only nodded. "I think I'd like to set some snares," she said, hopping over the side without another word. Zevran hung back, walking alongside the cart, apparently not all that eager to follow Elissa, either, for a change. "Is it just me, or has Elissa been channeling Morrigan for the past couple of days?" Alistair asked as he pulled the horse to a halt, careful to keep his voice down.

He didn't trust the sly amusement that crossed Zevran's face at all. "In a manner of speaking. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the concept of women's aligning cycles?"

"Maker's _breath_!"

"Allow me to explain. It is quite a common and curious aspect of nature—"

"I'm not listening to this," he grumbled, dropping down to the dirt road and shoving past the assassin.

Zevran shrugged, smiling that infuriating smile of his. "You did ask."

"I did _not _ask. I… oh, never mind."

He set about unloading the supplies they would need for the night while the others headed to the clearing, going about the now-routine tasks of setting up camp. Despite Alistair hoping the assassin could go find someone else to annoy, Zevran hopped gracefully up into the cart and crouched down, watching as Alistair worked. "May I ask _you _a question, friend Alistair?"

_I hate you_. "If you feel you must."

"I had a wondering regarding your fellow Grey Warden."

Alistair froze, every muscle in his body instantly tensing. He straightened slowly, glaring at the elf. "What about her?"

"I have been with you for some time now, no? Long enough for your intentions to become clear, one should think. So, I am forced to wonder if I was mistaken in my original impressions. She is quite available, or so it would seem."

Alistair felt his eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a warning. "You keep your blasted hands off her."

Zevran's lips twisted into a knowing smirk. "Ah, but such undeniable beauty and passion _yearn _for hands of some kind. If not yours, why not mine?" Alistair could only manage an inarticulate growl, which only made the other man laugh, unperturbed. "Simply and idle wondering. Let me offer you a touch of advice. Elissa is a great woman, driven by passion. Women such as her need that passion… reciprocated, if you take my meaning."

"We _always_ know what you mean, Zevran."

"Very well. Then you will understand when I tell you this: she values your company and your friendship, for now. But friendship and desire are two very different animals, my friend. One is naught but a dreadful label that you will be forced to carry for all eternity if you do not act while you have the chance." He smiled, bright and sharp and not at all pleasant as he scooped up his pack and gracefully jumped over the side of the wagon. "Think well on that, Chantry boy."

… … …

Summer was determined to arrive early that year, sudden waves of dry heat evaporating the cool breezes of spring and beating down relentlessly as they reached the Northern Road. The late afternoon sun slanted thick and golden in the surrounding landscape, casting a soft orange hue that practically begged for quiet activities and short naps after such a rainy spring. At least for the people who remained resting at the camp, it did.

Elissa grit her teeth, positive she could _feel _freckles popping up all along her neck and cheeks as she gingerly tested her weight on an outcropping of stone, her feet searching for a secure hold along the nearly vertical rock face. Unable to navigate the climb in armor, she had been forced to strip down to her trousers and shirt, gloves protecting her hands from the burn of her rope as she fought to inch her way to the top of the cliff.

A shadow fell over her, and without looking could envision Morrigan waiting impatiently at the top. "If you continue at this pace, these herbs will expire in the coming of the autumn, you realize."

She took a moment to shoot a quick glare at the witch before being forced to let it go so she could concentrate on what she was doing. "Not all of us can sprout wings," she called back.

"Perhaps I should have asked the templar for assistance. Assuming he could navigate a rope without getting lost, that is."

Elissa breathed a quick huff of a chuckle, somewhat uncomfortable in her already strained lungs. "Don't make me laugh while I'm doing this, please." With a final burst of energy, she managed to haul herself over the cliff edge. She rolled over and spread out in the cool grass, allowing her watery muscles a bit of a rest as she looked up at Morrigan. The other woman stood over her with her arms crossed, smirking slightly. "Any chance you'd be able to teach me to shape shift as well?"

"Anyone with sufficient will can learn. Even that nosing old school mistress, I suppose. But the act of transformation is a magical one. 'Tis a spell, and thus requires a mage's talents. Sadly, you must remain disappointed."

"Damn." Elissa smiled and drew in a deep breath before forcing herself to her feet. "I'm curious, really. Is the raven your particular preference?"

"Oh, no. I know many forms, though the raven is one of the more useful to our current endeavors."

She thought about that as she pulled up her rope. "I've never heard of that type of magic."

"No? 'Tis not unheard of, in the remote corners of the world. There are traditions of magic outside of the Circle of Magi, despite what those mages would have you believe. Some of these traditions are old, indeed, passed down as carefully-guarded lore from one generation to the next. You look upon the world around you and you think you know it well. I have smelled it as a wolf, listened as a cat, prowled shadows that you never dreamed existed. It has taught me much about the nature of things. The world holds a much different view within quiet of the trees for a spider."

Elissa shuddered slightly, and Morrigan's eyes immediately narrowed. She checked a sigh at the witch's diligent sensitivity and explained, "I don't think it's necessary for me to see that last one."

Morrigan's scowl shifted, softening into a reluctant half-smile. "So I have already gathered."

Elissa finished untying the knot Morrigan had provided and began winding up her rope. "I wonder why the Circle doesn't teach it? It doesn't sound like blood magic to me."

"But it is apostate magic, and the two are synchronous in the hive mind of the Chantry." Morrigan crossed her arms and snorted. "Not all apostates use the forbidden blood arts. Maleficarum do, but to condemn all who do not fall under the Circle's thrall for the sake of what might be is a dangerous path to walk. Blood magic relies on a victim, or in weakening yourself for the sake of temporary power. I would not lower myself to such dependence."

Elissa gave her a small smile. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"Indeed? Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Elissa said. "I just pointed out how useful it is. Without you as a scout, who know how many groups of bandits we might have wandered into unprepared?"

Morrigan looked impressed by the response. "A most _practical_ opinion. Far more so than your fellow Warden."

Elissa sighed, winding her rope. "Alistair isn't that bad. It's just all he's been taught."

"Blind obedience was not an excuse for ignorant prejudices, on my last observation."

She frowned a little. "He's a good person, you know. He's trying to overcome years of doctrine—the fact that he's _trying_ says more about his personality than any of the admittedly stupid things he says sometimes. You could give him a chance."

Morrigan looked at her through heavy lidded eyes, her mouth twisted in dislike, but Elissa saw honest curiosity in her gaze. "You're genuinely attracted to him, aren't you?"

Elissa wasn't about to commit herself by giving that a straight answer. "I think he's one of the few honestly decent people I know." She groaned, rubbing her back, eager for a change of subject. Luckily, she had one at the ready. "Oh, this reminds me—I have a book I found at the Circle Tower that he says is written in some form of the arcane? I thought maybe you'd like to take a look at it."

Morrigan froze, her eyes widening momentarily before they dropped, shadowing whatever emotion might have been there. "What does it look like?"

"Black. Old. There's some sort of tree on the cover."

Morrigan went as still as a hunted deer. "My mother's grimoire. I had thought to mention it at the Circle Tower, but I didn't see it. I had feared it lost."

Elissa blinked. "Well, then, it's yours. I'll give it to you as soon as we get back to camp."

"You have my thanks. I will begin study of the tome immediately."

Elissa smiled as they made their way over to the ruin in the distance, searching for the rare herbs Morrigan had spotted as she flew overhead. "You actually seem happy. What's in there?"

Morrigan looked decidedly smug. "Secrets. My mother has many of them, and this tome represents the one time that they were able to get away from her." She laughed, looking more animated than Elissa had ever seen her. "I do not intend to squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know. This should be... interesting."

… … …

A cool breeze began to blow in from the north, relieving the monotony of the stale heat that encompassed them. They days were growing longer, but still they stopped at near the same time every afternoon, accounting for the Warden's ravenous appetite as well as a unanimous desire to have some time to themselves before losing the light. The camp was always busy now, the companions taking advantage of the extended hours to catch up on wash or hunt and restock their supply of meat instead of trying to survive on bread.

The sun was still high overhead as Elissa trekked through the woods, filtering through the trees in sudden bursts of light. Unlike the thick, tangled trees that imitated the Wilds in the southern regions, the forest was sparse and open, green leaves providing welcome shade as they followed along a stream that sparkled merrily in the sun. She clambered over a collection of stones that had once been an outpost, long since fallen to ruin. "Are you sure you felt something?"

Alistair cast a glance over his shoulder. Despite Wynne and Leliana's objections, the two had set off alone to scout the surrounding forests. They had long ago come to an unspoken agreement to minimize the risk of any of their companions falling to the Taint, often ordering the others back in the heat of battle once the numbers were shifted to their side. The only one who refused to obey was Aiden, who was gamboling through the tall grasses, his tongue out and his tail wagging.

"I'm positive," he answered, waiting for her to catch up. "It was very faint—probably only one or two stragglers." He slowed his pace a bit, letting her fall into step beside him. "Are you okay?" he asked suddenly, catching her off guard. Something in the way he blurted the question made her wonder if he had just been waiting until they were alone. "You've been very quiet the past few days."

She shrugged, her eyes studying the sprinkle of leaves tangled in the grasses at her feet to avoid his questioning gaze. "Have I?" She reached up and ran a hand over her hair, which was tied back out of her face. She was almost relieved when Aiden's ears perked up, suddenly suspicious. "I think I'm just tired."

The look he gave her told her he wasn't believing that, but at that moment she felt the pull of the Taint nearby, followed by a low, guttural growl. Aiden had already assumed a more threatening pose, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Both Wardens stopped, reaching for weapons. Alistair carefully navigated his way up a mound of dirt that probably covered more of the ruins, keeping low and out of sight. Elissa followed silently behind, noting when his muscles tensed at the sight of their query. He motioned her further up and held up three fingers.

Elissa risked a glimpse down at the stream. Three darkspawn were camped in a small clearing, and had apparently been there for some time. Alistair gingerly slipped the pack of healing supplies off of his shoulder, leaving it nearby in case they needed it. Elissa grabbed his arm when he would have started forward, warning in a low voice, "That clearing is riddled with traps."

He paused, considering. "How many can you see from here?"

"At least four."

"We'll have to risk it. The dog can see them, right?" Aiden snorted in what seemed to be reassurance. "All right, then. Keep to the edges, Liss. Let me draw them first."

She nodded, slinking back into the trees. She had barely gotten into position when Alistair and Aiden charged down the hill, immediately rushing the emissary and a hurlock hovering beside it. Elissa took advantage of the surprise to move forward and sink her dagger into the spine of a nearby genlock just as it began to reach for an arrow. It choked on it's own scream, shivering in its death throes. She straightened and blew a strand of hair out of her face, thinking she could help Alistair, when suddenly a heavy fist connected with the side of her head, sending her staggering back several feet. An alpha had been concealed by the forest, and doubtless had seen her slinking through the trees. Elissa was still trying to shake off the stunning blow when it came at her again, its broadsword swinging dangerously close to her midsection. She stumbled back, and heard the click of the trap a moment before pain exploded in her ankle and leg, sharp enough to make her cry out. She barely caught herself on her uninjured foot before she could fall flat on her face.

It came at her again, but she got her sword up in time to parry the attack, a slash of her dagger forcing it back. The tip of the blade managed to graze its stomach, slipping between the plates of its makeshift armor to find flesh. Elissa saw it clutch at the wound and quickly reached up to wipe the stream of blood that was threatening to run into her eyes from a cut on her forehead. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to hit girls?"

It continued the attack, but she had braced herself. Her sword was moving as fast as she had ever fought in her life, hampered by not being able to move. Her arm was tiring quickly, her head throbbing from the blow, but she managed to divert an attack coming in on her left with the longsword and stabbed in with the dagger, the solid drive piercing armor and slipping between bone. The alpha howled, stumbling back, blood pouring from the wound, but it lifted its sword, circling her. Elissa swallowed back what was quickly becoming panic. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"

As if to accentuate her point, Aiden suddenly leapt out of nowhere, slamming into the alpha from behind. Elissa pounced on the diversion, bringing her sword up in a sharp arc that knocked the weapon from its hand. Howling in pain and anger both while Aiden lunged, snapping viciously, the darkspawn staggered into her, sending a new wave of pain up her trapped leg and making her screech against her teeth. The fight had turned into a shoving match, and as Aiden clamped down on the monster's arm, bringing it to it's knees, Elissa reached out and caught it under the chin, her other hand coming up to twist its helmeted head with all the pain-enhanced strength she could muster. She felt the neck bone snap and shoved the body aside, feeling sickened both from the brutality as well as the throbbing in her leg. She sank to the ground, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat and blood from her face. Aiden trotted over, nudging her in concern.

"I'm okay," she managed to gasp out, reaching out to ruffle his ears. "Good boy." With a gulp of breath, she bent forward to examine the trap. It was poorly made, constructed of thin metal and of a simple design, completely unlike the ones she had seen Zevran use that would have taken her foot clean off. The teeth bit into her skin, deep enough that she could feel warm stickiness pooling in her boot. Despite the shoddy workmanship, it was stuck fast, and her arms were still shaking from the fight.

Alistair jogged over a moment later, shaking his head as if trying to shake off a blow. "Emissary had a bit more mana than I thought," he said by way of explanation before he spotted her dilemma. His eyes jumped from the contraption on her leg to the two bodies before coming back to her. He looked a little dumbfounded. "You killed them with your foot stuck in a _claw trap_?"

She grimaced, trying hard not to squirm in discomfort. "I was only stuck for one of them. And what else was I supposed to do? Call for a time out?"

"I don't know. Something along the lines of 'Hey, Alistair, I'm _stuck in a claw trap_' might have been appropriate." He knelt down in front of her, eyeing the weirdly twisted corpse of the alpha in some trepidation. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"Just help me get this damn thing open."

She saw him wince the moment her foot was free. "They got you good this time," he muttered. "Aiden, go fetch that pack."

The dog bolted off to do as he was told. Alistair began to unlace her boot, taking a moment to glance up at her face. His eyes narrowed on the cut on her forehead. "What'd it do, hit you?"

She nodded, her fingers unconsciously moving up to test the tender swelling on her cheek. "Again. Between the darkspawn and the bandits, I'm starting to think a solid backhand is the standard attack for males of any species."

"Not for all of us." He glanced up at her again. "I wouldn't look at this if I were you."

She obediently shut her eyes as he began to slide her boot off, and managed to bite back a whimper of pain when the stabbing sensation shot up her leg, though she thought she might have cracked a tooth in the effort.

"It's not as bad as I thought."

Elissa opened her eyes to see Aiden trotting back, gingerly holding the sack in his teeth. Alistair took it from him and set to work cleaning and bandaging her ankle. Elissa leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes, breathing in the soft smell of the coming evening. The scent of grasses and eucalyptus and fresh flowers damp with dew were more painful than the wound, thrumming through her in a dull ache.

She heard Alistair sigh. "Liss, what's wrong?"

She opened her eyes slowly to find him watching her. She breathed deeply, savoring the feel of the moist, cool air. "We're near the sea," she answered, so quietly she wasn't certain he could hear her.

It hit him then—she could see it in his eyes, the dawning understanding of all the mysterious weight and twisting grief he could feel, but couldn't understand. He drew in a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, looking more than a little frustrated with himself. "This is the edge of Highever."

She nodded, not answering.

"I should have realized that." He looked at her, his eyes warm as he reached up, gently tracing the line on her brow, his touch feather-light as his fingertips tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You should have _told_ me. I'm at least good for talking to, even if I come up a bit short in other areas."

She didn't know what to say, suddenly had the overwhelming urge to curl up in his arms and cry, but she fought it back, blinking rapidly and hurriedly reaching up to scrub her eyes. Alistair seemed to come to himself, glancing down at the problem at hand. She took his hand when he offered it, allowing him to help her up. He surprised her then, bending down to scoop her off her feet. She hadn't thought he would try to carry her—she was nearly six feet tall and certainly had the weight that came with her height, not to mention her chainmail, but he hoisted her up like she didn't weigh anything. "C'mon, we'd better get you to Wynne."

… … …

The sun was just beginning to set when they made it back to camp. The sound of laughter and quietly strummed music came to a discordant halt at their appearance, the others quickly getting to their feet. Wynne was the first to reach them, setting her mending aside to hurry over, looking equal parts worried and exasperated. "What happened?"

"Trap," Alistair answered, gingerly setting Elissa down beside the fire before he straightened up and stretched. "And I've seen stupider mistakes, but not very often."

Elissa didn't get a chance to retort. Sten had wandered over, his arms crossed in disapproval. "The purpose for training to see traps is to avoid them."

Elissa glowered. "Thank you, Sten."

"Even qunari children know better than to test their effectiveness by triggering them."

Elissa threw the glove that she had just pulled off at him, but it only bounced off his chest and fell to the ground with a soft thud. Sten seemed not to notice.

Wynne clicked her tongue and sat down beside her, examining the ankle with careful hands. "It's broken," she said after a few moments. "Thank goodness I convinced you to take those supplies with you. At least the bleeding isn't serious." She looked up at Alistair. "What about you?"

"I'm fine. Just a few bruises."

She made a non-committal sound and gestured for her supplies. "Fetch those for me and go get cleaned up, then. Maker only knows how I'm expected to keep up with two Wardens who don't have the sense to keep a healer with them."

"And steal the opportunity for you to worry over us? I wouldn't dream of it, Wynne." Alistair smiled as he went over to do as she asked.

Elissa had been a little surprised at first at Alistair's willingness to continually tease the elder mage, but she didn't seem to mind it. Even now, Wynne looked less stern and more like she was trying not to smile as she unwound the bandage around her ankle. Elissa shook her head with a soft laugh. If Alistair ever figured out just how charming he could be, they were all doomed.

Leliana joined them a little while later, continuing the simple melody she had been playing earlier. It was pleasant, sitting there and listening without the need to speak, taking Elissa's mind off of the frustration of her broken bone for a while. It occurred to her that was precisely what Leliana had in mind, and was silently thankful.

Finally, Wynne got up, dusting off her hands. "That's all I can do for now. The bone is newly mended, so I absolutely don't want you trying to walk for the next couple of days, at least. I'll get you something to help with the ache."

Elissa growled in frustration, glaring at the offending limb. As if she didn't have enough problems already, without being bedridden, as well. Leliana offered her a sympathetic smile. "You can ride in the cart. There are plenty of us to deal with the dangers of the road."

"I'm sure we can get by," Wynne said, handing Elissa a small vial as she sat back down, sewing in hand.

Leliana's song came to an abrupt stop for the second time, twanging into silence. She was looking toward the edge of camp, her blue eyes widening slightly. "Well, well," she murmured, smiling to herself before she continued to play.

Elissa glanced over her shoulder, quickly realizing what had caught Leliana's attention. Alistair was returning from the stream, stripped bare to the waist and running a hand through his damp hair as he crouched down to dig through his pack for a clean shirt. Water still glistened on his skin, running in tiny rivulets down the firm lines of his chest and stomach. Elissa allowed her eyes to wander over him for a moment before she turned away. Leliana glanced at her, her eyebrow raised and a small smile on her lips. Elissa only shrugged and raised the potion to her lips.

Beside them, Wynne heaved a sigh. "If I were only twenty years younger."

Elissa nearly choked, spitting the herbal concoction all over the place. Leliana fell over, clutching her stomach and laughing as Elissa pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to regain the ability to speak through the stinging in her throat. "_Wynne_!"

Wynne only rolled her eyes and returned to her sewing, the needle flashing rapidly in the failing light. "Oh, as if you two weren't doing the exact same thing."

… … …

Alistair poked at the fire hard enough that embers scattered all along the stones, sending little sparks shooting into the cool night air. On the other side of the fire, Elissa laughed as she accepted a bowl of stew from Zevran. The elf sat down beside her, his arm resting across the log she was leaning against as he talked. Leliana was also with them, listening with an amused attention that set Alistair's teeth on edge.

Beside him, Wynne sighed softly. "I fail to see what that fire had done to wrong you."

He frowned and looked down at the mess he was making before tossing the stick aside with a huff of exasperation. "Well, I have to stab _something_."

A knowing smile curved her lips. "Ah. The assassin."

"Yes, the assassin. What does she _see_ in him?"

Wynne shrugged and returned to her herbs. "I don't think she sees anything in him, at least not in the way that you mean. Elissa is very much a grown woman, and one who knows her mind. If you are truly her friend, you might want to trust that she is permitted insight into Zevran's character that you're not." Despite the words, Wynne looked doubtful, watching the two through a slight narrowing of her eyes.

Alistair sighed, glaring at her. "You know, you are just too understanding about stuff like this. Can't you be more judgmental? I'm trying to rant, here."

Wynne looked like she would have liked to laugh, but restrained the urge. "Oh, I'm sorry. You go ahead and rant, dear. I'll just nod my head, if you like."

He settled down into a sulk, crossing his arms. Wynne began to carefully remove the leaves from length of a strange looking vine with purple veins. "You might consider telling her how you feel," she said without looking up, unaffected by Alistair's quick sputter of surprise. "I'm sure it's not Elissa's intention to make you uncomfortable."

"No," he said, shifting in his seat and sure that his face was on fire. "That's apparently _your _job."

Wynne glanced up at him. "Oh. Is it supposed to be a secret?"

In the other group, Zevran was smirking, his most flirtatious smile in place as he reached over and gently tugged on a strand of Elissa's hair. "Dear, dear Elissa—how is it we have not made love as of yet?"

She met his leer, her own eyes openly appraising as she grinned at him. "Should every man in Ferelden suddenly die, you may yet have your chance."

"Aha! Progress!"

Alistair glowered. _That does it. The elf dies_. He wanted to object, to warn her, but he wasn't sure what he could say and so he sat there like an idiot, grappling for words before he blurt out "Templars."

The look Elissa gave him said it all. Alistair groaned softly, aware of everyone looking at him. "Uh, you were asking the other day about training. Since you can't move anyway, we could start on the basics of meditation, if you have a moment…"

Her expression brightened, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He still wasn't sure how much he would be able to teach her, but at least trying would get rid of the elf for a bit.

The stupid Antivan was just laughing at him, shaking with silent mirth at the awkward interruption. As Alistair went over to help Elissa to stand up, he made sure to kick a bit of dirt in Zevran's direction, but that only made him laugh harder.


	26. Denerim

_**A/N**__: Hmm… I seemed to have silenced everyone with that last chapter. Oops. Hopefully this one will be a bit more interesting. :)  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six<strong>

_**Denerim**_

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_Tough and funny and a little bit kind: that is as near to perfection as a human being can be._

_~ Mignon Laughlin_

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Alistair shifted his weight impatiently, watching Elissa with such intensity he was sure that any moment now, his eyes were going to bore holes in the back of her head. The sun shone prettily on her hair as she flipped a strand over her shoulder, laughing, and leaned closer over the table, giving the merchant the illusion of her undivided attention while managing to flash a generous curve of cleavage.

He ground his teeth together.

A soft whimper at his side brought Aiden to his attention, clearly just as unhappy with this arrangement. The dog looked up at him with pleading eyes, stamping in place in his desire to be over by his mistress against her specific order to stay put. Not needing to be convinced, Alistair made a small gesture with his hand, indicating to go ahead. The dog offered him a bark in thanks and instantly galloped over, planting himself beside Elissa.

"Huh. I have never seen a mabari take instruction from anyone but their master," Zevran said, thoughtful. He was leaning lazily against a wall, a complete contrast to the tension of the other two. "I rather thought it was a trait of the breed in which Fereldans took great pride."

"We have a very love-hate relationship," Alistair muttered, not really paying attention. He was still too busy watching Elissa. She appeared to be finished, handing over the coin for the collection of vials and length of linen they desperately needed. She looked pleased with herself when she returned, but Alistair was beyond being placated.

"Maker's breath!" The words exploded from him before he could think. "You were just supposed to haggle him down, not make him bust his breeches!"

"What are you _talking _about?"

Zevran chuckled. "I would be more than happy to demonstrate…"

"Shut up, Zevran." Alistair stalked toward her. "Elissa, I know we're short on coin, but no more. Next time let Zevran threaten him or something. That's what he's here for."

She pursed her lips, lowering her voice. "How else did you expect me to get these things for nothing more than a handful of coppers? We're _broke_, Alistair. It's time to tuck away those tender sensibilities of yours and do what we have to do, like you keep telling me."

It wasn't just his tender sensibilities, or even his newly discovered jealousy where Elissa was concerned. Despite being the capital city of Ferelden and the home of the royal palace, Denerim was a dangerous place, as were all large cities. Bandits and thieves lurked in alleyways and shadowed corners, always on the lookout for a possible mark. It was even more dangerous for a woman to be caught alone, and though Alistair was more inclined to feel anyone who tried to accost the women he traveled with was certainly biting off more than they could chew, he couldn't ignore the risk that remained ever present for them, either. Bad guys tended to travel in packs, overcoming cowardice with sheer numbers, and none of them were invincible. He had already noticed a number of sallow, greasy-haired thugs watching Elissa with far too much interest, and it was making him nervous. Zevran's sudden insistence to come into town rather than waiting back at camp only told Alistair that he wasn't over-reacting, either. Elissa had insisted on regular clothing to avoid drawing the attention of the town guard, but Zevran's lethal-looking daggers worn were openly at his belt instead of hidden beneath a cloak, and Alistair didn't doubt he wore some form of protection beneath his shirt.

As a result, he was in a foul mood that afternoon, and trying to pretend he wasn't was only making it more obvious as the day went on. He was _mostly _sure that Elissa couldn't hear all the comments he was making beneath his breath while she dealt with the representative of the Mages' Collective, at least until the man left and her foot came stomping down on his.

"Ow! Would you lay off the toes?"

"Would you stop running your mouth? We're trying to find _work_. It would help if you didn't deliberately set out to annoy everyone who gives us a chance."

"Oh, so sorry to get in the way of you trying to save the world. I'll just be over here, wallowing in my own insignificance."

She sighed. "Okay, so _you're _annoyed."

No, he was being an ass. Sometimes it just took him a moment to realize it. He swallowed the sharp retort that came to mind, sorry he was taking his frustration out on Elissa when she was the one who was actually trying to solve the problem. "I just don't understand why we're dealing with all these shady characters. The city guard was willing to hire us."

She crossed her arms, looking skeptical. "He wanted us to chase a gang of mercenaries out of a brothel. You expect me to barge in and start bossing around a gang of fully armed men?"

"Why not? You do it to me all the time."

… … …

Elissa had never imagined being in a brothel in her life, but if she had ever taken the time to, she certainly wouldn't have expected it to look like the Pearl. The foyer and common room were not only clean and well-maintained, but lavishly decorated; expensive rugs decorated the polished floors and fresh flowers stood in real glass vases. Zevran scanned the scene with an amused kind of fondness. "Ah, I grew up in a place such as this!"

Alistair started at him, looking for a moment like he didn't know whether or not to believe him. "You grew up in a brothel?"

"Most assuredly, before I was sold to the Crows. They say you can never go home again, but for ten silvers an hour, you can come fairly close."

A loud crash sounded from the back of the room, followed by the sound of riotous laughter. Elissa immediately spotted a group of five men in the corner, insolently lounging amidst a clutter of empty bottles and tankards. One of them had just fallen to the floor, managing to break a leg off his chair in the process. From the look of the cheap swill they were drinking, Elissa was a little amazed any of them were still conscious.

A middle-aged woman stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed and looking none too pleased. She was a handsome woman, with dark hair and eyes and a generous figure encased in a low-cut blouse and a laced bodice that accentuated her curves. She turned when Elissa and her companions approached, eying their weapons with undisguised suspicion. "More of _them_, are you?"

"No. We were sent by Sergeant Kylon."

The look of dislike softened marginally. "Finally remembered we were here, did he? Well and good, then. Sanga—proprietor of this establishment." She scowled down at Aiden. "I trust you'll watch the dog? I just had these floors finished."

Elissa reached down and gave Aiden a reassuring pat when he whined. "He's trained."

"If you say so. Try not to bust up my place too much."

Elissa took a moment to study the group before noticing a particularly large man sitting in the front. There was something about the way the others hung on his every word that told her he was the one to convince. She walked over, Alistair and Zevran following close behind, and immediately kicked the stool out from beneath his feet. "Party's over, gentlemen. Time to sleep it off."

He only looked up at her and grinned, bleary-eyed from drink. "Well, well. How much do you cost, little girl?"

"I'm not for sale. You're being ordered to leave the premises."

He laughed, hiccupping loudly, and grabbed her wrist. "And just how do you expect to make us do that?"

Without so much as a growl in warning, Aiden clamped down on the man's arm. He screamed in sudden fright and pain, twisting to get free, but Aiden was undeterred, biting down harder. A couple of the mercenaries moved to get up, swearing loudly and reaching for weapons, but were stopped short at the cold touch of steel—Alistair and Zevran had both drawn and had their blades angles beneath their throat. Elissa used the flat of her dagger to lift the leader's chin as he quivered, whimpering. "Why don't you take your business elsewhere?"

He didn't answer, just nodded. At a silent hand signal from Elissa, Aiden released him, his ears still pressed flat against his skull and growling low in his throat. Zevran caught the bleeding mercenary by the arm and hauled him out of his chair, keeping his dagger in hand as he began to steer him towards the exit. Without argument, the others began to slink towards the door.

"Don't forget your friend."

Two of them stopped, looking at each other before they stepped over cautiously, collecting the unconscious man and quickly hurrying out behind the others.

Elissa sheathed her weapons. "Well, that was certainly more effective than I thought it would be."

"You'd be amazed how prudent a man can become when his arm's being gnawed off," Alistair said, but he bent down and scratched Aiden behind the ears. The dog barked happily, wagging his tail.

Elissa laughed. "I'm just going to go make sure they don't turn on Zevran in the street. Be right back."

It seemed the mercenaries had no such inclination, because when Elissa followed them out, the streets were empty. Zevran was nearby, looking narrow-eyed at a yellowed notice nailed to the wall. Curious, Elissa wandered over, reading over his shoulder.

_Don't believe the lies! Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffons will rise again._

"That seems a little odd," she said, crossing her arms.

Zevran nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A bold statement, indeed, particularly in the regent's own city. I have seen many such notices posted all around the Market District." He paused, thinking. "It would serve as quite a lure, no? One has to wonder how many of your supporters now dwell in Fort Drakon out of a misguided desire to help."

Elissa felt a sinking feeling around her heart. "Do you think this Sanga knows anything about this?"

"A woman such as her does not get where she is by being a fool, or by nosing around in other people's business. As is expected, it comes down to the coin. But I am certain she suspects."

Elissa sighed. "Don't show it to Alistair," she said. Zevran only nodded in agreement and tore it from the wall.

Inside the Pearl, Alistair was being cornered by Sanga. Elissa walked over just in time to catch the tail end of their conversation. "Are you sure you won't have one of our girls? We have some nice ones who would be happy to service you, and it's on the house, love."

Alistair backed up until he ran into a table, shoving a nervous hand through his hair and keeping his eyes determinedly fixed on his feet. "No, no… that's okay. Really."

She shrugged. "Your choice. Let me know if you change your mind."

Elissa bit her tongue as the woman took her leave, trying to hold back her laughter. "Are you okay?"

He glanced her way, looking miserable. "I have the sudden feeling I may need a drink."

She giggled. "Go get one. I have to talk to the matron. For _information_, Alistair," she said at his incredulous look. "These girls know everything that goes on in this city. I'd like an idea of what's really going on, rather than whatever display of peace and order Loghain is trying to present."

Since she had some time on her hands—she might of _known_ it was too much to hope that Zevran would be able to pass on Sanga's generosity—Elissa took her time talking to several of the Pearl's workers, trying to gather any tiny bit of information they had heard of the situation in Denerim. As she had suspected, with the varied clientele they serviced, every whisper of a rumor had floated through the Pearl at one time or another. Though most of them would have kept their silence at any other time, there was an undercurrent of unrest flowing throughout all of Denerim. Elissa was careful in her questioning, garnering enough information that she soon figured out the source behind it.

She joined Alistair at a round table, where he had been waiting, more than willing to let Elissa use her position as a female to garner sympathy. He sat with his back against the wall, hunkered over his tankard and looking more nervous than he did on a trap-riddled battlefield. Elissa slid into the seat beside him, offering him a crooked smile. "They only work for hire, you realize."

He glanced up, but still seemed afraid of accidently making eye contact with anyone in the room. "I don't know. That one in the corner doesn't look like she charges much."

Elissa followed his gaze to a voluptuous woman sitting alone and idly shuffling through a deck of cards. She was absolutely stunning, with caramel-colored skin and blue-black hair that fell down her back in waves and curls, tied back out of her face with a handkerchief. She was watching both of them with obvious interest, her dark eyes narrowed in curiosity.

Before Elissa could ask, another woman walked up to their table. She set down a tankard in front of Elissa, eyeing her beadily with her hand on her hip. "I saw you talking to Sanga. You the new girl?"

"Uh… no."

"Well, thank the Maker for that. Hard enough to make a living as it is." She tossed Alistair a wink before sauntering away.

Elissa shook her head. "_Anyway_." She leaned in closer, wary of being overheard. "It turns out those rumors we've been hearing aren't just rumors. There are a lot of banns who don't trust Loghain's version of what happened at Ostagar. Fights have been breaking out all over the bannorn when they refuse to pledge their armies. According to Sanga, Loghain hasn't been able to muster anywhere near the support he had anticipated."

Alistair turned towards her, looking troubled. "So it _is _a civil war."

"That's not all. Arl Howe has become his right-hand man and named the Arl of Denerim." She had to pause to rein in her fury at the very thought. "He's been granted Highever, and Amaranthine is already his. That _filth_ rules over all of northeastern Ferelden!"

"Calm down," Alistair said, deliberately quiet. He crossed his arms on the table and took her hand, his fingers entwined in hers. "Both of them are going to pay for what they've done."

"That kind of brings me to my next point." Elissa leaned in even closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "The people aren't very happy with Howe's ruling of Denerim. He's been hiking up the taxes on the business owners and skimming it off the top. Sanga says he must have a fortune hoarded away in that estate of his. Rumor has it that he's planning to ship it to Highever, and soon. What if it were intercepted?"

His eyes widened, staring at her. It seemed to take him a moment to figure out what to say. "Elissa, do you even realize what you're saying? You're talking about stealing from one of the most powerful men in Ferelden!"

"I'm talking about taking something back from a murdering usurper who's decided the people of this country owe him something. That money can either go to fund Loghain's army, or it can come to us to help us end this Blight. Which would you prefer?"

"You can save your manipulation tactics. I've seen them too often already." He sighed, unconsciously pulling her hand nearer, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin above her knuckles. "How much money are we talking about?"

"Enough that we'll never have to sell our swords again."

"It's risky." He looked at her for a long time, his eyes clear and unreadable. "Fine—I'm in. But we've got to be careful about this. If we get caught, Loghain will have us both swinging from the gallows by morning."

"The transfer isn't supposed to happen for two weeks. We'll finish up our business here and disappear right after."

"Won't that look conspicuous?'

She gave him a twisted smile. "They're going to know who did it, anyway, once word gets out that we were here. They haven't been able to catch us on the road yet."

He chuckled. "One of these days I'm going to figure out whether you're an evil genius or completely nuts."

"I suppose we're going to find out."

"Can I get something for you, love?"

Elissa glared up at the buxom blonde standing beside Alistair. Or _draped _over him might have been a more accurate description. Her arm was casually bent across his shoulders, the other strategically resting on his chest. Elissa's eyes narrowed. "We're _talking _here."

That got her a dirty look, but the woman took the hint and left, looking put-out. Elissa grumbled beneath her breath. Alistair laughed, his fingers twisting playfully to lightly tug on hers. "Come on. Zevran knows where to find us. You'll feel better after we go collect our earnings."

"What would make me _feel better _would be if every woman in this place would stop eyeballing you like you were a joint of meat for them to fight over."

She said it loud enough to make sure she was overheard. She couldn't exactly blame Alistair for the smug grin he gave her as he leaned in a bit closer. "I'm careful to keep myself off the menu, remember?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, a slow smile touching her lips. "Is that so?"

His eyes grew immediately warm, roaming over her face appreciatively. "I might be persuaded to change my stance on the matter."

"Zevran!" The loud voice made them both jump. Elissa looked over to see Zevran emerging from the back rooms, looking slightly confused at being hailed. The mysterious woman in the corner was on her feet, her arms crossed and looking less than pleased to see him. "Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my lord husband and then vanishing without a trace?"

Zevran smiled and offered the woman a small bow, not at all repentant. "You know it was just business, Isabella. Business that turned out well for you, I must say. You inherited the ship, I take it?"

Isabella stared at him, her scowl disintegrating as she broke out into a smile, laughing softly. "I suppose I never did like the greasy bastard. And the _Siren _treats me better than she ever treated him."

Beside her, Alistair chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh, good—those two know each other."

Elissa rolled her eyes as she got up to join them. "I suppose that shouldn't surprise me."

… … …

Sergeant Kylon was pleased with the results at the Pearl, handing over the promised sovereigns without argument. "I have another job for you, if you're interested. A rowdy group of sailors is scaring the patrons at the Gnawed Noble. If you're up to another confrontation, I'm sure it would be worth your time. The patrons of the Gnawed Noble might not be good for much, but they can gather a decent reward if they're the ones being directly affected."

Elissa looked at him curiously as she dropped the coins into her pouch. "Don't you have men stationed at the Gnawed Noble?"

His mouth twisted slightly. "Only in the loosest sense of the word. The lower market isn't deemed important by the captain of the guard, even less with Arl Howe in charge. So, when I get the new men I request, I get the _delightful_ surprise of discovering they're Lord Such-and-Such's illegitimate, untrained, moronic whelps. But, lords keep sending me more of them. It's decent pay, no expectations, a uniform. So I have a legion of bastards to protect the market from pickpockets, stabbings and whatnot. And Arl Howe's specially picked men are the worst of the lot. With the bastards I just have to worry about dicing, the occasional drool, or yelling at them too loudly and hurting their poor feelings. But I swear, the arls men are more miscreant than the criminals we occasionally arrest."

Elissa glanced up at Alistair. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "That last one hardly wore us out. I think we can handle another."

Kylon looked ridiculously relieved. "You've a free hand with this one, though I would appreciate it if you didn't kill them unless you have to. And my thanks, Wardens."

Elissa froze, as did Alistair. "You know who we are?"

"Your likeness was passed around to the senior guardsmen at the palace. Don't worry—even if I believed the 'official' story of what happened at Ostagar, I'm no fool. If I asked _my_ men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big, sobby tears into their courtesan's bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered. Don't disturb the peace in the market—that's well enough for me."

"Fair enough." Elissa shrugged. "We're in Denerim for a reason, actually. You wouldn't happen to know of a Brother Genetivi, would you? He's been keeping correspondence with an acquaintance of ours, but the sisters at the chantry claim they haven't seen him in weeks, and no one else has heard of him."

"He keeps to himself. Works outside of the chantry, in a small house right across the way from the Gnawed Noble. He has an assistant, if I recall—he might be able to tell you more."

"Our thanks as well, then. We'll be back in a bit."

They were headed through the busiest part of the market when Elissa suddenly heard her name called out from the crowd. She turned, her eyes scanning the array of people in some confusion before she saw the woman was running towards her, her rich skirts hiked up in a most unladylike manner as she sprinted across the center of the square, her rich brown hair coming loose of its elegant twist. It took only a moment for Elissa to recognize her and cry out in surprise, "_Claudia_?"

That was as far as she got before she was being tackled, her friend's arms around her neck in an iron-like grip as she sobbed in a stream of Orlesian. "Oh, thank the Maker and his blessed prophet both! We heard about Highever, and… Elissa, it's so terrible! I feared you had been slain. We've searched everywhere for you. Poor Bryce and Eleanor—the pig that did this should be hung by his own entrails and left for the ravens to devour!"

"Claudia," Elissa finally managed to say around the strangle hold. "What are you _doing _here?"

"The roads to Orlais are guarded, they are not permitting anyone to pass. We have been trying to find passage to Kirkwall, but they will not take our money. This Loghain, he is a hard man. He refuses to even see my father, despite his many requests for an audience." Claudia took a deep breath, smoothing back her hair. "What has happened? Why are you here, and who is this?"

"Oh," Elissa remembered her manners at the last moment. "Alistair, this is one of my oldest friends, Claudia. We grew up together."

Claudia offered Alistair a delicate hand, speaking broken Fereldish with a thick, unfamiliar accent. "_Enchanté_. Thank you, _cher monsieur_, thank you for keeping my friend. We fear for her safety."

"You're welcome, though I think Elissa can take care of herself."

"Is true, no?" She smiled and turned back to Elissa, switching back to Orlesian. "Please, you must tell me what has happened to you."

Elissa glanced up at Alistair, but he seemed to know what she was asking despite being unable to follow the conversation. "Go ahead. I can handle this one."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I'll get Sten to come with me. He should be more than enough to convince a group of drunken sailors to be somewhere else."

… … …

Alistair let his head fall back and rest against the cool of the stone archway, closing his eyes. He was sitting in a corner of the market, enjoying a bit of shade cast either by the wall or the looming qunari beside him—he wasn't really sure which. Elissa was nearby, still talking to her friend, a look of real concern on her face as the girl chattered on about something he didn't understand. Elissa hadn't been exaggerating—she _was_ completely fluent, answering every time the girl paused to take a breath in the easy, flowing accent of a native speaker.

He found that incredibly attractive.

He rolled his shoulders, silently cursing the ache rapidly settling into his muscles. The group plaguing the Gnawed Noble had turned out to be a good bit feistier than the first, more than willing to put up a fight, much to the delight of the barkeep. Trying to stay inconspicuous or not, they couldn't keep doing these jobs without being fully armed and armored. It was too dangerous.

He sighed, beginning to get bored, and squinted up at Sten, who was nothing more than a huge black silhouette against the glare of the sun. It still wasn't difficult to imagine the look on his face, considering the qunari didn't appear to have more than one expression. "Don't you ever talk?" Alistair asked. "You know, make polite conversation just to put people at ease?"

"You mean that I should remark upon the weather before I cut off a man's head?"

"… Never mind."

Elissa finally seemed to be finished catching up, hugging her friend as she muttered something into her ear. Alistair got to his feet, more than ready to head back to camp and, hopefully, supper. Elissa watched Claudia leave sadly, a brutal reminder of who she had been only a couple of months ago lingering in the depth of her gaze.

Alistair put an arm around her, drawing her closer in a one-armed hug that she accepted willingly, wrapping her arms around him. "You two seemed to have a lot to talk about."

She nodded and told him of the roadblocks put in place to prevent the Orlesians crossing the border. Alistair sighed at the news. "I suppose now we know why none of the Orlesian Grey Wardens have tried to contact us."

She looked worried. "I told Claudia to take her family to my cousin's estate near West Hill. He has the sense not to advertise that he has guests, if it comes down to it. I don't think they'll be safe here much longer."

Alistair didn't want to agree and make her feel worse, though he had the sneaking suspicion she was right. Instead, he took her hand as they started towards the gates of the city. "So… how did you come to grow up with an Orlesian noble, anyway?"

Elissa gave him a small, wistful smile. "My father. He was of the opinion that being unfamiliar with a culture made it altogether too easy to hate it. Claudia is the daughter of one of his business associates. I was sent to Orlais every summer when I was little, and she often came to Highever in the fall. I think he hoped the practice would catch on and ease tensions, but, of course it didn't."

"_That _must have made him popular."

"You have no idea. Claudia told me that Arl Howe is covering his actions by claiming that my father was getting ready to sell us out to the Orlesians. There's no saying how many people believe it, and her being here is certainly looking bad." She sighed, shaking loose strands of her hair out of her face. "It won't be long before he knows I'm here, either. She's a dear friend, but if Claudia had to keep a secret to save her mother's life, I'd start choosing a dress for the funeral. The nobility will all be whispering by tomorrow." She considered for a moment. "Didn't you say something about the Chantry looking for someone to clear the back alleys of the recent incursion of bandits?"

"Yeah. Apparently the problem is getting seriously out of hand. They're getting more and more bloodthirsty. People don't feel safe here."

She nodded, thinking. "I think it's time we started taking our name back and earning a little good will from the people of Denerim, don't you?"


	27. Promises

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

_**Promises**_

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_The only sure thing about luck is that it will change. _

_~Wilson Mizner_

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The sea fog rolled in every morning, providing a dawn of cool air and dewy grass that burned away beneath the summer heat before noon. In the tall grasses and rocky coast that surrounded the walled city of Denerim were suddenly decorated with camps and wagons, dotting the landscape in increments to account for privacy, but Elissa suspected it would only be a few more weeks before the area was crowded with refugees. For the time being, however, she could almost pretend the Blight had all been a part of a terrible dream as the sound of the waves and children laughing filled her with the sensation of _summer_—a little piece of normal that she had been craving without even realizing it.

They had claimed a semi-permanent place to make camp for the duration of their stay. It was beside the river, just far enough up so that the salt of the sea didn't taint the slow moving water, and she didn't have any intention of losing the spot by pulling up stakes every evening. As a result, they were forced to go into the city in small groups, careful to leave at least one person behind on guard, but she didn't mind that. Changing the faces in her party actually revealed itself to be a blessing in disguise after they began hunting down gangs of bandits in the alleyways. It was useful to have the element of surprise, though she didn't doubt every thug in Denerim would recognize her and Alistair on sight from now on. The two Wardens often went into the city alone, asking about work and trying to gather information as well as to return to the Pearl to continue Elissa's lessons with the pirate captain Isabella. After watching the woman chase away a group of drunken ruffians by herself, the ease with which she handled her weapons, Elissa had determined she needed to learn the technique and managed to convince Isabella to train her—a conversation Alistair still had not entirely forgiven her for.

"She really is helping me, you realize," Elissa said one day as they left the Pearl, sighing at Alistair's grumbling. "And I didn't actually _agree _to let her borrow you for the summer."

"You certainly contemplated it long enough."

She laughed. "I was _joking_. The card game sated her curiosity just fine. And what are you getting so upset about, anyway? She's absolutely stunning—and don't try to pretend you hadn't noticed. I would think a summer on the seas with an insatiable beauty was every man's dream."

He gave her an exasperated look. "Don't play dense, Elissa." He sighed, glancing around the square. "I suppose we should hunt down Wynne and Zevran before going back to see of Brother Genitivi's apprentice is in yet."

"He hasn't been there all week. I'm beginning to worry he's up and vanished on us, too."

"There's definitely something strange going on. Still, it's worth checking again."

As no one had seen hide nor hair of the apprentice since Elissa had first arrived in Denerim, she was startled when the door creaked open under her persistent knock, leaving her staring stupidly for a moment at the small, mousy man who peeked out from behind it. "Can I help you?"

She recovered herself, lowing her hand. "We're here to speak to Brother Genitivi. Is he in?"

"Brother Genitivi is away for some weeks. What is this about?"

Elissa couldn't quite bring herself to mention the Urn. Even now, the idea felt foolish. "We're interested in his research."

The door opened a bit more, enough for the man to stick his head out and glance up and down the street. She noticed he seemed nervous, but couldn't tell if it was the subject of the Urn or just his general demeanor that made him appear on edge. "Come in, if you like," he said, stepping back to allow them inside, if only barely. As it was, Alistair had to squeeze through the small space he offered.

"I am Weylon, Brother Genitivi's apprentice," he said the moment the door was safely closed behind them. "I take it you're here about the Urn. I'll be honest—I haven't heard from Brother Genitivi in weeks. He's sent no word. It's so unlike him, I'm afraid something has happened. Genitivi's research into the Urn may have led him into danger."

"Have you reported him missing to anyone?" Elissa asked, startled by the news. She hadn't started out with much faith that they would find anything more than a man with a stack of rumors at best. She realized at that moment that she had never actually believed the Urn existed.

Weylon nodded, nervously twisting his hands. "Some knights from Redcliffe came. I told them of his absence, and they went after him. I've heard nothing of them. I fear they have disappeared, as well."

"Where did you send them? It's vital that we speak to Genitivi."

Weylon visibly paled. "No, don't ask me where. Please. You'll only go after them, and what if ill luck should befall you, too? This search has become a curse. Some things are not meant to be found. I realize that, now."

"Regardless, we have to look," Alistair said. "Just tell us which direction they went. It isn't as if you're responsible if something should happen to us."

Weylon sighed and rubbed his eyes, apparently debating. "So be it," he said, very quietly. "Genitivi was headed for an inn near Lake Calenhad. He received a lead he felt was worth investigating."

"Do you know what it was about?" Elissa asked.

"No. All I read in his notes was that he was staying at the inn there. I'm not even certain that was the place he was investigating."

"You read in his notes?" Zevran interrupted. Elissa saw a slight narrowing of his eyes. "Strange, that an apprentice would require finding the whereabouts of his master in such an impersonal manner. Wouldn't you agree?"

Weylon swallowed visibly, stammering, "N-no, of course he told me. I… I only meant that I went through his things to see if I could find other clues to his whereabouts. I don't know what happened to him. They never said… I mean, he never said..."

Elissa's hand went to her sword hilt. "They?"

Weylon's explanation stuttered to a halt. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, the anxious demeanor instantly falling away. "Why do I keep up with this charade?" He glared at them, backing up a step as his hands began to glow with an eerie orange light. Elissa immediately felt the chill in the air as Alistair drew on his will. "I gave you a chance to walk away and pretend you had never heard of Genitivi or the Urn, but you refused. Andraste, forgive me, what I do now I do in your na—" His last word ended in a strange, strangled sound. His eyes bulged, wide and terrified as a thin line of drool fell from his open lips.

Zevran's arm snaked out from behind Weylon's and around neck as he drove the dagger further into his back, shaking his head almost sorrowfully at the man's pained grunt."Perhaps your friends should not have sent such a clumsy liar." He let the body fall to the floor, calmly wiping the blood off of his dagger with a bit of cloth. "Poor soul. What?" he asked of their stares. "Can you not tell when someone is getting ready to attack? How have you lived for so long?"

Alistair was fairly gaping, but quickly caught himself, shaking his head and fixing Zevran with a glare. "Good thing we have you around, just in case we ever got the ridiculous notion to keep the fighting _fair_."

Zevran flashed him a smile. "Alistair, you are going to make me blush. We all pitch in and do our share of murdering around here, no?"

"All the same, we could have questioned him," Elissa said. "We don't even know where to begin looking now."

Zevran shrugged and sheathed his dagger. "Perhaps you did not notice the invocation of Andraste's name. Rest assured that I did. There is religious fervor behind this, my friend. Those people do not talk, no matter what you do to them. And he spoke of Genitivi's research. I'm certain we can find what we need without the headache of interrogation."

He was probably right. Elissa didn't press the issue. "Wynne, go fetch Kylon and tell him what happened. It was _self defense_," she stressed at the scowl the mage gave her. "Just because Zevran got the drop on him doesn't mean he wasn't trying to kill us. The rest of us will try to find out what we can from what Genitivi left behind."

The small house contained only a few rooms, and only of them shut tight against them. Alistair ventured towards it first, shoving his shoulder into the locked door to break it open. He immediately covered his mouth and backed up a step, coughing. "Uh-oh."

A chill ran up Elissa's spine. She followed him, dread filling her stomach. The room stank of old death, the buzzing of flies only reinforcing their suspicions. In a shadowed corner, she found what she had feared—a corpse, covered by a blanket. Elissa knelt down beside the figure and pulled the blanket back marginally, stirring the swarming insects into a frenzy. A young face stared up at her with sightless eyes, bloated and badly beaten. Dried blood matted his hair, thick and sticky on the worn wooden planks of the floor.

She covered her nose with the back of her hand, quickly looking away from the gruesome sight. "It's the real Weylon."

Alistair sighed, crossing his arms. "I'd say that's reason enough to believe Brother Genetivi was onto something."

Elissa nodded sadly and covered the poor man's face again. "I'd say you're right."

… … …

Morrigan carefully studied the map in her hands by the light of the blazing fire, her yellow eyes roaming along the inked paths and rivers with a small frown on her face. The witch was generally miserly when it came to inviting people to her fire, but lately she had taken to tolerating Elissa for short periods of time, more cooperative in answering her questions than she had been before. "I've no knowledge of this place," she said at length, handing the map back to Elissa. "But then, I rarely left my home. Have none of the others ever heard of this Haven?"

"No, none of them," Elissa said with a sigh, carefully rolling the map back up and tucking it into her satchel. "Leliana might know something with all that lore she keeps in her head, but she's been busy all evening. She's composing." She snorted a small, rueful laugh. "I'm not even sure this place exists. And the Frostback Mountains are so far away."

Morrigan tilted her head, considering her. "Perhaps 'tis best to abandon this notion. You have quite enough to be dealing with for the time being, I would think."

Elissa shook her head. "A man was killed over this. There might be some truth behind it. The problem is the coin it's going to take to travel so far, and the amount of time it might take to find this place. This map isn't exactly the most precise I've ever seen." She linked her fingers behind her neck and gingerly rolled it, trying to work out the kinks that had set in. Her back was in knots, as well, making it hard to get comfortable. She had been staring at the cursed map all day, but she was no closer to formulating a plan than she had been this afternoon.

Morrigan's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Tell me, how much longer do you intend to pursue this search for the sake of his feelings?"

Elissa blew out a long breath, pushing her hair out of her face. "It's not just for Alistair. We really do need Arl Eamon's help, and I made a promise. I'll follow the trail until it goes cold."

"No one would hold you to such an impractical promise, save perhaps for that irksome woman who sent us here to begin with. I should think you have little care of her opinion."

Elissa laughed softly. "I'm holding myself to it. Isolde has nothing to do with it." She got up, dusting off her backside. "Thank you for your help. Maybe I'll come up with something after I get some sleep."

Morrigan nodded, watching her carefully. "I have a salve of mint, if you like. It may help with tired muscles."

Elissa gave her a small smile. "I would, and thanks."

… … …

Elissa bolted upright in her tent, shivering despite the sweat that rolled down her back and shoulders. She could remember almost nothing of the nightmare, its horrific images already fading into the recesses of her mind, but she recalled visions of blood and fire. Her stomach turned, the dredges of the awful song of the Archdemon still humming through her in a nauseating rhythm.

The camp was quiet outside, save for the sound of heavy footsteps just outside of her tent. Elissa glanced up to find Alistair already ducking in, still pulling a shirt over his head. He looked pale as he sat down, studying her in the dim light cast by the dying fire outside. "So you had it too, huh?"

She nodded, wiping her damp hair away from clammy skin. She was still having trouble shaking off the effects of the dream, and could feel Alistair's Taint pulsing beneath hers despite her attempts to banish it. It was these moments that frightened her the most—the way she could feel him around and through her, merging until it was impossible to untangle the different thoughts running through her mind. "It was stronger than usual."

"The horde is on the move. We both knew they wouldn't remain quiet for long."

They did, but it didn't make the knowledge that the darkspawn were attacking again any easier to hear. She shook herself, deliberately and methodically banishing both the darkspawn and Alistair from her being until she felt only the rapid beating of her own heart. "Did you see where they were going?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking completely exhausted. "Not really. There were men fighting. Wherever they're headed, we'll be hearing about it soon enough."

Elissa reached up and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, still a bit shaky. "Alistair?" She paused, but she desperately didn't want to be alone with only her thoughts for company, no matter how terrified she was of the strengthening bond between her and her fellow Warden. "Stay with me?"

He glanced behind him, looking across the camp to his own tent, apparently debating. He must not have liked the idea of being alone, either. "Scoot over."

… … …

The fog rolled over the camp in a thick, cold blanket of mist, muting the morning sun in a sea of soft grey. Elissa woke slowly, still sleepy from a night of broken rest and feeling warm and safe in the cocoon of her blankets and strong arms, guarding her against the chill damp that permeated the world outside. She was lying on her side, her back pressed into the curve of Alistair's body, one of his arms tucked beneath her pillow and the other slung low over her hip. She yawned and closed her eyes, thinking that her mother would have been horrified to learn that her daughter had invited a young man to spend the night in her bed just to keep her from nightmares. She rolled over, snuggling closer to him, and breathed a sigh of contentment when he shifted his sleep, his arm tightening around her protectively.

Her mother would be horrified by most of the things she did these days, anyway.

She continued to doze, drifting in and out of sleep while she listened to the sounds of the camp outside. The others were stirring, quiet snatches of conversation floating in through the canvas. She yawned again and opened sleepy eyes, taking a little while to steal a long look at her slumbering companion. There was no denying that Alistair was attractive, with his classic features and strong chin, but she found herself noting little things about him that she hadn't before. A small scar that slashed across his eyebrow that she had never asked about, a scattering of light freckles across his nose and cheeks. With his eyes closed, she saw that his eyelashes were dark despite his lighter hair, and long enough to seem almost girlish. She loved his eyes, loved their warmth and clarity, the way that a simple look from him could make her laugh or send her heart fluttering in her chest. His mouth was soft and well-formed, and she had the sudden urge to kiss him awake, to know what it felt like against hers at least once.

She shook off the idea and sat up, stretching. She had only gotten that far when Leliana suddenly pulled back the tent flap, letting in a flood of light that momentarily stung her eyes. "Elissa… I forgot you wanted to speak to me last night. I'm so sorry! I just—" Leliana's gushing apology abruptly cut off when she finally caught sight of the still-sleeping figure, her mouth dropping open slightly in surprise.

"My mother always said that was the best way to catch flies, you know," Elissa said dryly. Leliana's mouth snapped shut. Elissa hurriedly slid out from under Alistair's arm and moved to push the bard outside, keeping her voice low. "He stayed with me after I had a bad dream."

Leliana's smile was just a bit too smug. "Interesting approach."

"We were just _sleeping_."

She laughed quietly. "That really is too bad. Alistair could use a good ravishment, I think. Especially if it were to come from you."

"Leliana!"

"Oh come, Elissa. He is handsome and kind, and utterly taken with you. Would it be such a terrible thing to enjoy that?"

She had been asking herself the same question far too often lately. "I have a hard enough time keeping things in perspective without the additional complication of picturing Alistair that way."

Leliana snorted, clearly not convinced. "As if you have not done so already. Honestly, Elissa, you are usually a better liar than this."

Elissa lowered her voice several notches. "Fine. He's gorgeous. Happy now?"

"Quite."

Elissa fixed her friend with a pointed look. "I'll be fetching that map." She ducked back into the tent and fished around until she found her canvas satchel, digging through it in some irritation. Outside, she heard Morrigan screech in outrage and Aiden bark in reply—apparently the dog had left another dead gift for the witch. She sighed and rolled her eyes, muttering aside to her sleeping companion, "No ravishing today, I suppose."

To her horror, the corner of Alistair's mouth lifted into a smile. "Damn."

_Oh, no. No no no no no. _She gasped, unconsciously scooting away from him, her heart thudding in her chest. "How long have you been awake?"

He opened his eyes and stretched, rolling onto his back to give her a lazy smile. Lying there with his hair tussled and his eyes heavy with sleep, he looked more appealing than a man had any right to. "Long enough."

For the first time in her life, Elissa found herself completely tongue-tied. "I…"

Alistair reached out and caught her arm, slowly pulling her closer. "You what?"

She didn't have the faintest clue what she had been trying to say, and the sensation of being reeled in by his gentle pull wasn't helping her to think at all. She yanked her arm free, deciding that trivializing whatever he heard might allow her to salvage some amount of dignity. "Oh, you _know _you're good-looking. You tell me so all the time."

"Still, hearing a beautiful woman say so isn't a _bad _thing to wake up to." He reached up, and his thumb ran slowly over her lower lip, making her breath hitch. She was suddenly, acutely aware that she had just woken up and her mouth tasted a bit like dirty dishwater. She did the only thing she could do at that point.

She panicked.

Elissa scrambled up, grabbing the whole satchel in an attempt to beat a hasty retreat. "Don't let it get to your head," she snapped, humiliated. "We still have a Blight to contend with."

He just laughed at her retreating back, not phased in the slightest by her abrupt change of mood. "Wow. I've got you on the run now, haven't I?"


	28. Conflicts

_**A/N**__: There's drunkenness, sexual innuendo, and Very Bad Words in this chapter. I wasn't sure if I should change the rating over it, so here's an official warning instead.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Eight<strong>

_**Conflicts**_

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_And I'll be awful sometimes_

_Weakened to my knees_

_~ Matt Nathanson_

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The camp was filled with talk and laughter in the early days of summer, the final dredges of unfamiliarity falling away with the last of the spring as its inhabitants began to take advantage of the unhurried atmosphere they were afforded while in Denerim. It was an overall feeling of _lightness_, a slow dissipation of the grief and fear that had followed them in all the months since Ostagar, allowing them to bask in the simple pleasures of sunny days and balmy nights spent lying beneath the stars. Without the strain of travel hovering over them, the days seemed even longer; hours were spent on the shore, in the woods, and they were eating well for the first time in forever now that the leisure to hunt and fish was finally available.

Alistair was a _little_ shocked at first to learn that summer also meant women who generally covered themselves with chainmail and heavy leather felt no qualms at all about stripping down to chemises and undershirts when the worst of the heat beat down on them. He had thought himself accustomed to scantily clad females after Morrigan's insistence not to wear anything that resembled actual clothing, but clearly, he was wrong. Suddenly, Elissa and Leliana were possessing of traits like sun-kissed skin, toned arms and shapely shoulders—and a good deal more cleavage than he had previously imagined. He took to staring at the ground more often than not, afraid to be caught gaping and prove once and for all he was the idiot he'd always claimed to be.

It wasn't all rest and trying to avoid staring at stunning women, of course. Sometimes, it seemed like Elissa was determined to clear out every last burrow of thieves in Denerim. Mornings were spend in shady alleys speaking to even shadier people, gathering tips and following clues like hunters tracking a deer until the inevitable confrontations, when he could allow the clamor of battle to rage across his senses. They had caused enough of a stir with their questioning alone that groups of thugs had taken to stalking _them_. The ambushes and random attacks they endured cleared Alistair's conscience of the knowledge that they were leaving a trail of blood through the backstreets of the once great city—blood that carried their footprints and left images of their faces in the minds of dangerous people. Taking precautions whenever they ventured through the gates became less of an ideal and more of a necessity, insisting that they were careful not to be caught alone.

Yet in the quiet of the afternoon, after they were tucked safely back at camp, it was difficult to remember the rising tide of danger that threatened to overwhelm them. Then, the world was peaceful and soft and Elissa was there, either reading beside the fire or writing in her journal. Alistair spent every afternoon with her, trying to peek over her shoulder and brushing her hands aside despite her laughing protests—a game that was more of an excuse to touch her than any real curiosity on his part. He wanted to touch her all the time—couldn't seem to stop himself from tucking back that elusive strand of her hair that never stayed tied back with the rest, or lightly caressing her fingers with his while she talked to him beside the fire. The casual teasing and flirting had transformed into something more _real_—a growing tension that only seemed to be relieved by her presence. Sometimes, she would curl up beside him and rest her head on his shoulder, saying nothing at all while they watched the activity of the others, warm and soft against him as she yawned sleepily in the fading light, and he thought he might have liked those moments best of all.

They had been in Denerim for two weeks, the day turning cool and grey with a hint of rain, when Bodahn and Sandal returned from the city. The former was looking altogether too pleased over a full day of charging the nobility of Ferelden exorbitant prices for luxuries. Alistair shook his head, knowing that a large part of Bodhan's success was due to_ them_ selling him items he never would have had a chance to come by otherwise, things they picked up on their travels through the world of thieves. The dwarf was congenial and even helpful in many ways, so Alistair held his tongue about him, but there was no denying the entrepreneur in Bodahn rubbed him the wrong way.

Sandal, on the other hand, was pleasant company. The boy was always happy, ready to share with all of them his innocent smile and strange talents in lyrium folding. Though communicating with him sometimes required a certain amount of patience, Alistair had noted that not even Morrigan had a harsh word to say to the young dwarf.

Today, Elissa had brought him a small gift she had found on the beach—a perfect seashell about as large as her hand. Alistair watched in some amusement the way Sandal's eyes lit with delight when she showed him how to hold it to his ear to hear the whisper of the sea.

"You're very good with him," he said when Elissa returned to his side, leaving Sandal giggling over his present. The realization had surprised him initially—Elissa's patience was a thing of trial and error for most of them. "He's like a kid in a lot of ways. I never pictured you as the type to spend a lot of time with them."

She shrugged, smiling to herself. "I wouldn't consider myself a particularly fine choice for motherhood, but I did enjoy being an aunt very much. There's something to be said for being able to buy gifts and teach games without the responsibility of actually _raising _them." She smiled a little wryly. "Still, I suppose it doesn't matter, now." She fell silent, resting her chin in her hand as she pondered over something he couldn't quite get a feel for, aside from a mild undertone of self-deprecation. When Elissa was brooding, it was an obvious enough sensation that he would have felt it even without the Taint.

"I can _hear _you thinking, you realize."

She glanced back at him before tilting her head in an imitation of a shrug. "It's nothing, really. I'm just considering the ironies in life. If you only knew how many times my mother lectured me to settle down, start a family. I used to promise myself that I wouldn't let her manipulate me into rushing into anything. Silly of me."

Alistair had never been in a position where he would have considered having a family of his own a burden, but then, he hadn't ever been pressured to marry someone he didn't want to, either. "I don't think it sounds silly."

"It was. Regardless of what their plans for me were, my parents _did _put a good deal of importance on my happiness. I shouldn't have been so stubborn."

Alistair didn't point out that if she had done that, he likely would never have met her. Not for the first time, it struck him how different he and Elissa's lives would have been if not for Duncan. Her current mood made him wonder, though, and prompted him to ask, "Do you think you'll leave the Grey Wardens?"

"If we survive, you mean?" She laughed, but it wasn't a very happy sound. "Probably. I'll likely petition Queen Anora to allow the name to pass through the female line in times of necessity and see about getting myself married off."

It stung more than it should have. Alistair had never even considered the days after the Blight, but she obviously had, and apparently, she didn't think enough of—whatever it was between them—to imagine him there. Rationally, he knew that it would be more than passing strange for her to be planning a future with him or anything, but still. A _little _consideration wouldn't have hurt. "You don't have to, you know," he said, trying to hide his disappointment. "You could stay… with the Wardens, I mean. Help rebuild the Order." He looked over at her, feeling a little hesitant. "It wouldn't be _that_ terrible, would it?"

She smiled at him, her eyes softening in a way that told him he had been a lot more transparent than he had meant to be. "I can't let the Couslands disappear," she said quietly. "Whether that means naming an heir amongst my cousins or carrying the burden myself, I don't know yet. I might not be suitable for royalty anymore, but I'm still a teyrna, once Howe is dealt with. I can't ignore that."

It took a moment for him to catch the almost off-handed remark, but when he did, the words sank into his stomach with a thud. He stared at her, hoping he had misunderstood. "Wait… you… you were going to marry _Cailan_?"

For a moment, she looked very much like he imagined he did when he had just said something incredibly stupid. Her eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly before she could think of a response. "Um, no. Not really. It was talked about for a little while, but everyone knew Cailan was going to marry Anora."

"_How_ _many_ people were talking about it?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to. He had seen the way the King had looked at her at Ostagar, although at the time, he thought it was just the man's famous libido at work. It wasn't much of a secret that Cailan was being pressured to put Anora aside after five years of marriage with no heir. "I see."

"Alistair, don't look at it so hard. It was just _talk_. I didn't even meet Cailan until Ostagar."

The all-too-familiar feeling of being secondary to his half-brother was just a bit stronger than any thought he might have had about being rational. "_He _was certainly looking hard enough. And here I thought I was doing you a favor, trying to keep you outside of his very limited attention span."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Okay, now you're just being ridiculous. You can't blame me for the circumstances of my birth putting me in that position. I've never hidden who I am from you. Since I'm the only one of us who can make that claim, maybe you should stop being so _stupid _about this."

Later, he would realize that he wouldn't have gotten nearly as defensive if he hadn't been thinking the exact same thing, but at the time, all he felt was frustration. "I can't help it—I'm not as _smart_ as you. I didn't have home libraries and summers in Orlais and childhood friends related to Empress Celene. I'm nothing but a common-born bastard, remember?"

The look on her face was like a door slamming shut. Elissa only stared at him, her expression cool and a little thoughtful. "You're right," she said, picking up her journal and getting to her feet. "You are."

_Ouch_. Shame, hot and painful, filled him as he watched her walk away. Alistair had been called many things in his life—he seemed to have a knack for drawing that kind of attention—but he didn't remember any of them hurting quite as much as that simple statement.

He should have known better, he supposed, than to ever fool himself into thinking that a Cousland could view him as anything else. Alistair got up and retreated to the safety of his tent where, it was hoped, he could lick his wounds in private.

… … …

By early evening. Alistair was feeling more than a little stupid. No matter what she had said or thought of him now, he had definitely been provoking Elissa. He was mortified that he had thrown a tantrum in front of her for no good reason. News of Cailan had always managed to awaken something ten-years-old and resentful in him, a shortcoming he _thought _he had overcome as an adult.

Apparently not.

When he ducked out of his tent to find her and try to apologize, however, the camp was nearly empty. Only Wynne and Sten were present, each busy with their own quiet distractions. It was late enough that Morrigan was probably out on her nightly feeding, but no matter how he strained his senses, Alistair couldn't hear any sign of the others. With a feeling of growing trepidation, he approached Wynne to find out what was going on. She looked up at him in some surprise.

"Have you seen Elissa?"

Wynne shook her head, looking a little concerned. "She went into the city. I honestly thought you had gone with her." Her brows drew together. "Is something wrong? She seemed a little upset when she left."

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling like a bit of an ass. "No, not really."

He went back to his tent and flopped back onto his bedroll, staring up at the worn canvas with a frown. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit that Wynne had noticed Elissa's upset. Elissa was the type to keep everything she was feeling firmly hidden, especially emotions that made her feel vulnerable. If Wynne had noticed, there was something wrong.

He didn't understand it. She was irritated with him, certainly, but that was nothing new. Spending all day, every day with someone inevitably led to the occasional quarrel, and they had certainly experienced their share of them. They never lasted long. She would snap at him, he would snap back, and after they had both calmed down, he would make her laugh over the whole thing.

He tried to tell himself that this was the same thing, even if it had gotten a bit nastier than usual. He was still stinging over it a bit himself, but they _had _been traveling together for four months. Maybe she had just decided to get a little space. Despite the perfectly sound logic, a dull nagging in the back of his head kept the worry revolving in his mind, wondering if he had managed to mess up more than he had originally thought.

Elissa had never left him behind before.

… … …

He didn't know how late it was when he was woken up by a sharp, pointed bark. The noise jerked Alistair out of a deep sleep, leaving him blinking dazedly in the dim light cast through the thin canvas by the fire outside. The noise came again, louder this time and sounding like he was right outside Alistair's tent. With a muttered curse, he reached up to rub one eye with the palm of his hand, wondering why Elissa wasn't keeping the animal quiet. She was usually more considerate than that.

Aiden barked once more, beginning to sound slightly panicked. Alistair growled to himself and crawled forward on his hands and knees to reach up and untie the fastenings at the opening to his tent. He stuck his head out and found himself eye-to-eye with the noisy dog. "What do you_ want_?"

The dog was clearing agitated, stamping in place and whimpering, but Alistair could see nothing wrong with him. "I don't speak _dog_," he said, somewhat irritably. "Go tell Elissa—"

At the sound of her name, Aiden whimpered again and turned in a circle, looking down the road towards the city. Growing understanding began to nudge at Alistair's brain, bringing him to full wakefulness. "She isn't back yet?" Another bark. Alistair glanced up at the sky. It had to be after midnight. A faint sense of panic began to settle in. "Is she okay?"

Aiden tilted his head, considering. Alistair took that for a solid enough sign she wasn't in immediate danger and ducked back inside to pull on his shirt and boots. Aiden was still waiting when he emerged, dancing in place, his stub of a tail wagging so frantically he almost lost his balance.

"All right, mutt… lead the way." He earned a flash of teeth and a loud huff for the slur, but Aiden obediently turned and began trotting up towards the road. Elissa and his argument still fresh in his mind, given the situation, Alistair thought it _almost_ funny that the animal would take offense.

He was more mutt than the mabari, after all.

They hadn't gone far when he heard voices ahead, loud enough to wake the entire city. He couldn't make out any of the conversation, but suddenly he heard Elissa's laugh and Leliana's answering giggle. Relief was strong enough to silence his irritation at being woken up when she was clearly fine. As he made his way around the bend in the road, he saw them. Leliana was the closest to him, moving more or less purposefully towards the camp, but Elissa and Zevran were weaving their way much more slowly behind her, occasionally stumbling into the surrounding vegetation. Zevran seemed to be trying to support her, but he was having a difficult time of it, being a couple of inches shorter than Elissa. Alistair saw Elissa fall hard onto the packed earth, seemingly unaware of it amidst gales of laughter.

It hit him suddenly. She was _drunk._

Drunk with _Zevran_.

It was possible he was really going to kill him this time.

Leliana spotted him and waved merrily. "Alistair! Thank goodness! I'm never going to be able to get these two back!"

At the sound of his name, Elissa stopped in her tracks—or at least tried to. She was still weaving in place. He approached the group cautiously, thinking that if she was still ticked at him, it was going to be much uglier with her in this condition. But apparently, she had decided to forgive him—or completely forgotten she was mad at him, which also seemed a distinct possibility. She smiled and stumbled toward him, losing her footing at the last moment so he had to catch her. She only laughed, tilting her head back so she could grin up at him. "Alistair! You should have come with us. I had _such _a good time."

She wasn't just drunk, she was _very _drunk. The smell of hard liquor immediately assailed him, seeming to ooze from every pore in her body. He stepped back, trying to steady her a bit, and glared at the assassin. "How much did you _give _her?"

Leliana busied herself by pulling one of Zevran's arms around her shoulders for support. Zevran complied and leaned against her, offering Alistair a lazy smile. "The barkeep made it clear we are most welcome patrons whenever we wish to return."

Alistair sighed and looked down at Elissa, who had slipped her arms around him and curled up against his chest like she had every intention of sleeping right there. "Can you even walk?"

"I'm sure we can find out," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Perfect." Alistair shook his head and bent down to scoop Elissa off her feet. She was completely limp in his arms, one arm dangling helplessly. "Come on, love, I think it's time for bed."

"I don't want to go to bed." The words were so slurred he barely understood them. Despite her protest, she didn't fight him, though the weak waving of her arm might have meant she was trying to. It was hard to be sure. He head rolled back. "Ooh, I don't feel so good."

"Tossing back enough alcohol to kill a bronto will do that," he said, shifting to get a better hold on her. "Just don't throw up on me, okay?"

She closed her eyes against the movement, and he saw her throat work as she swallowed. "No promises."

"_Awesome_."

He glanced back to make sure that Leliana would be able to herd Zevran back to camp. Aside from a perfectly necessary kick to his shin when he tried to rest his head on her chest, she seemed to be handling him just fine.

Elissa was so quiet on the trek back that he assumed she had passed out already, but when he finally ducked into her tent and dumped her on her bedroll, she looked up at him with a serious look in her cloudy blue eyes. "Are you still mad at me?"

"I haven't decided yet," he said, tugging on the laces to her boots. She was quiet, and he glanced back at her, sighing at the look in her eyes. "But, I doubt it. And I wasn't mad at you before. Not really." He managed to slide her boots off and decided that was good enough, reaching for a blanket to toss over her. "So what gives, Elissa? This isn't like you."

She curled up on her side with her knees pulled to her chest and closed her eyes. "I didn't want to think anymore. I get tired of thinking all the time."

"You certainly rid yourself of that pesky habit for one night."

She giggled and opened her eyes again to grin up at him. "I regret nothing."

"Yes, well… we'll discuss _that_ when you're hungover."

She laughed softly, still looking up at him. Before Alistair figure out what she was doing, she sat up, drawing her knees up, and looked him for a long time. Or at least she tried to. She was a little fuzzy in that regard.

Alistair didn't think it was the right time to be talking about whatever she had in mind. "Elissa, you really should get some sl—"

"I should have kissed you."

He completely forgot what he had been about to say. He was convinced he had heard her wrong, but couldn't think of a single phrase that sounded even remotely like the one he thought he heard, and his brain was so busy stumbling over it all he managed to get out was, "_Huh_?"

She smiled. "The other morning. I wanted to." She began to move forward, rising up to her knees. Alistair's heart started pounding, the thrumming noise of his pulse in his ears drowning out all chance of thought. "I just wanted to know what it was like." Her hands were on his shoulders, sliding slowly around him. She was so close now he could almost _taste_ her, the reek of alcohol not enough to taint an underlying sweetness that was wholly Elissa. Alistair's mind was buzzing in his head, incapable of doing anything at all, until the very tips of her lips brushed his, cool and petal soft.

_Whoa_!

He realized what he was doing at the last moment and scrambled back away from her, but Elissa had been using him for support to stay upright, and she fell with him, landing on top of him. One of his legs was bent between hers, pressing her body completely flush with his. The plain linen shirt was worn with age and thin in places so that he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath it, the curve of her waist just beneath his hands.

_Brilliant. Now what_?

He swallowed so hard it hurt a little, desperately wishing he couldn't still feel the ghost of the feather-light touch of her lips brushing his. The urges to finally know the taste and feel of her mouth was like a fever in his blood, tensing every muscle. Maker's _mercy_, why did she have to be drunk?

Her eyes roamed over his face, soft and sultry. "What's wrong?"

If she hadn't been so far gone, she wouldn't have had to _ask_. His body was certainly being obvious enough about it. Swallowing a groan, Alistair put his hands on her shoulders and carefully slid out from under her, ignoring the parts of him that disagreed with that decision. "Um… I should go. And you should sleep. Preferably now."

"Why?"

"You're drunk."

She smiled. "I think that just makes me more likely to let you have your way with me."

Alistair closed his eyes, but that only made the images flashing through his head more vivid. He wrenched them back open. "You're making it very difficult for me to keep playing the nice guy here, you realize."

She gave him a slow smile. "So don't."

"Maker's _breath._" He twisted away from her, thankful that she wasn't persistent enough to follow. "I have to. I only have so much self-control, Elissa. I don't want you regretting… me." Her eyes softened at that, and she sat back, watching him. If Alistair could have stopped talking right then, she wouldn't have been offended by it. But he had to go and add, "You don't have to prove anything to me."

It was the wrong thing to say, he realized instantly. Her back stiffened, her eyes immediately narrowing on him. "Is _that _what you think this is about?"

He wasn't sure what the right answer to that question was. "Um…"

She was sober enough to still be self-conscious of the sleeping people that surrounded them, lowering her voice to a hiss. "I finally get fed up with waiting for _you_ to do something, especially after you've gone and put the notion in your head that I don't _want _you to, and you think I'm offering to toss you a _pity fuck_?'

Oh, this was bad. This was so very, very bad. If he could have kicked himself, he would have. "Well…"

"You get so offended that I mentioned an _almost _arranged marriage, and _you're _the one who keeps throwing it in my face."

He sat up and hurried to his feet to keep his distance from her temper when his was still churning just below the surface. "I throw that stuff in _your _face? I suppose that parting shot of yours today was supposed to feel like tickles and hugs, then?"

"What are you…?" Her eyes widened, then rolled in sheer exasperation. "Oh, for Maker's _sake_! I meant you were _acting _like a bastard, you jackass. Do you honestly think I give a damn about what side of the sheets you were born on?"

He blinked. "Oh."

_Nice comeback, genius_.

She was glowering at him now. "Do you have _any idea _what it was like to constantly be on display like a prize mare, waiting for other people to choose a stud to mount you? To have your family set their expectations on you marrying someone you'd never even _met_ and then discover he was an _idiot_?" She crossed her arms. "You think any of that has to do with _my_ feelings?" He didn't answer, and she shook her head in disgust. "You know what? Just get out."

"I only meant…" The words trailed off as an idea took shape in his head at her words, making him realize he hadn't ever gotten a straight answer regarding just how close she and Cailan had gotten. "Did you say 'mount you'?"

And _that_ was apparently the end of her patience with him, or so he decided as he ducked a hurled object he couldn't quite see, but certainly looked heavy. "_Get out_!"

He did, backing out just as something else came flying at him. For a long time he only stood in the cool of the night, scowling to himself and wondering if leaving the Chantry had somehow marked him as the Maker's personal target for torment. Finally, he shook his head and went back to bed, figuring he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it until Elissa sobered up some.

As he lay in his tent, the memory of her lips and body pressed against him kept returning to him, making it difficult to sleep. Even aggravated as he was, he couldn't help but think that Elissa _wanted _him, or at least she had tonight.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with a groan. Well, he had certainly managed to botch that up, hadn't he?

… … …

Alistair was slow in rising the next morning, feeling a bit hungover himself after a night of broken sleep and disturbing dreams. Though he had always had a problem with saying stupid things on occasion, it seemed to have hit its peak the previous evening. Where Elissa was concerned, all of his common sense seemed to evaporate under the utter confusion of what she made him feel. He had never been someone to let his emotions get the best of him before—a hard lesson learned he had learned over the years. Now, he couldn't seem to help himself, stuck somewhere between knight in shining armor and court jester whenever he dealt with her.

This woman was going to drive him insane—he was suddenly positive of that fact.

"Alistair." Wynne stuck her head into his tent without warning, releasing a flood of bright morning sun into the tent that stabbed at his weary head.

He bolted upright, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "Maker's breath, don't you knock?"

"Elissa's headed into the city," she said over his protest. "_Alone_."

Suddenly awake, Alistair quickly scrambled up, swearing and yanking a shirt over his head as he sprinted out of his tent to follow her whether she liked it or not.

That blasted woman wasn't going to get herself killed just because she was mad at him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN 2**__:Before I get furious reviews, yes, Elissa had her moments in this chapter, too. That'll be addressed in the next one. This one is just in his POV, and since he tends to blame himself a lot, that's all we saw here.  
><em>

_*whistles innocently* Sooo… There's actually a reason behind the early post. I have the resolution to this little snip already typed up and ready to go (of course they're not going to fight for that long. This was just stuff that really needed to be said, and I hate drawn-out, overblown angst.) I had a thought to maybe post it on Valentine's Day, since it seems appropriate, but I'm leaving it up to you guys. Do you want another long (and it __is__ long) update in only a few days, or should I just hold off and post it next Monday as usual?_


	29. Compromise

_**A/N**__: Last chapter, SoG broke 200 reviews o-O. I'm still in a state of shock. Thank you so much to everyone who's been following and taking the time to drop me a comment. It's breathed new life into my love for this story and boosted my motivation to tell my rather skewed version of it. You guys are absolutely fantastic._

_Chapter's not as long as I thought it would be… one scene got shoved to the next chapter and the other just didn't really fit anywhere. (Three of these things belong together, three of these things are kind of the same…)_

_*ahem* Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day, folks!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Nine<strong>

_**Compromise**_

.

_Tell her not to go_

_Tell her something in my mind_

_Freezes up from time to time_

_~ Del Amitri_

.

.

Elissa was _dying_.

Not in the way she was usually dying, between the Taint and the Blight and the angering every murdering type of filth in Ferelden. She hoped any of those potential deaths wouldn't nearly as painful as this one, which seemed determined to push itself out from behind her eyeballs. Her muscles felt thin and watery, yet her blood felt thick and heavy as it pulsed through nerves and pores that suddenly seemed individual in their varying degrees of discomfort. She had been drunk on occasion, but never like she had been last night. She knew now with inarguable certainty that she would never, ever be drinking again.

_Ever_.

She was aware she was being childish when she refused to so much as acknowledge Alistair's presence when he ran up beside her, still strapping on his sword belt and scowling darkly in her direction. But he didn't say anything, and so she didn't, either. She had never put herself in such an awkward situation before, and wasn't certain she even _should _say something. Besides, she really needed to concentrate on watching where her feet were landing, because the spinning in her head made it seem completely possible that she would somehow miss the ground if she wasn't very careful.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair tucking in his shirt and running a hand through his hair, and realized he must have rolled out of bed and run after her. She hadn't thought to take anyone but Aiden, as she had no intention of venturing any further than the Market District, but a stab of guilt went through her when she considered that Alistair wouldn't think that was good enough—guilt that last all of about a second before she heard a muttered complaint about stubborn females.

"I didn't _ask_ you to come." At least, that was what she meant to say. Her speech was so garbled, she barely understood it herself.

He frowned, clearly more fluent in Hangover than she had anticipated. "That was kind of my point."

Yes—ignoring him definitely felt like a better option.

As she went about her business, she tried very hard to pretend that everything had just gone back to business as usual, but she was having a difficult time of it. It was one of the most uncomfortable days in recent memory. She couldn't get used to it, this silence that bordered on menacing. As the day wore on and her sickness faded into a sloshy stomach and a dull ache in her head, Elissa's mind unclouded enough to realize she had to face up to how absurd the whole situation had become. She had already decided to apologize to Alistair the night before—though she was still nervous that she couldn't _entirely_ remember how that had gone—and here she was, dragging what was a pointless fight out again for no better reason than she didn't know what to say.

Alistair wasn't exactly being rude to her. His sense of chivalry was too deeply ingrained for that. He was just so distant, regarding her much the same way he regarded Sten. There was none of the usual warmth or humor in his eyes when he looked her way, and the loss of it made her feel hollow inside. Only yesterday, they had been here together as friends.

_Friends_.

A strange ache began to fill her chest as she glanced over at him while he haggled with a vendor, and without warning, she was blinking rapidly. She reached up quickly to wipe her eyes, irritated with herself.

Okay, so more than friends.

She didn't have any experience with something like this, being filled with a combination of anger and embarrassment that was entirely self-inflicted, and so she didn't know how begin rectifying it. Alistair _was_ being an ass over her vague connection to Cailan, but she hadn't exactly made the situation better by lashing out, getting sloshed, and then turning slut all in one evening.

She groaned as the fresh surge of fuzzy images from the night before filled her mind, and she sank down on a bench in a less crowded corner of the market district.

_Brilliant _work, Elissa. _Maybe next time you can just tie him down_.

Elissa had managed to work around to feeling extremely sorry for herself by the time Alistair joined her. He crouched down in front of her, silently offering her a waterskin and parcel wrapped in a napkin. "Water helps," he said quietly when she made no move to take them. "I got you some bread, too. You need to eat something."

She squinted at him, trying to see around the pain in her head. The day was clouded over, but it still seemed too bright. The smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach do a backflip and she tried to push it back to him. "I won't be able to keep it down."

"Yes, you will. Trust me."

She took it, still dubious, and began nibbling on a small piece. Alistair sat down next to her and blew out a long breath, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched a group of children play in the distance. "Are we done with this yet?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, forcing down a bit more of the bread. It did seem to calm her stomach somewhat. "I don't know. Are we?"

"Can we be?" He turned his head to look at her, and she finally saw something in his eyes other than the forced indifference he had been carrying. "Please?"

She dropped her gaze, picking idly at the bread in her hands and feeling positively wretched. "I don't want to fight anymore," she said at last, very quietly. She squeezed her eyes shut, cursing the rags in her head that made it impossible to articulate what she was feeling—not that she was that great at it in the first place. "I meant that to be an apology. I'm not sure it came out that way."

He laughed grimly, sitting up and running a hand over his face. "What are _you_ apologizing for? I'm the one who made a fool of myself over nothing." He sighed. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted, Elissa. You certainly didn't deserve it. It's just all my life, I've heard about Cailan. Finding out that he almost had you, too... it was a bit more than the jealous ten-year-old who lives inside of me could take. He's back under control now." He shook his head, offering her a wry smile. "One of my less flattering traits, or so I'm told."

She winced. "I shouldn't have said that to you. I didn't realize until later how it sounded. I never meant—"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. You explained last night. Rather forcefully, in fact."

She blinked, a new shiver of dread pricking her already overwrought nerves, making the rest of her apology die in her mouth. "I _did_?"

He seemed to find that funny, or so said the small smile that crept across his lips as he dug around in the pouch at his belt until he produced a small vial. "Here, drink this."

She eyed the red liquid longingly, but shook her head. "I'm not wasting a healing potion."

"Drink it. We've got plenty, and frankly, you look pathetic."

Elissa hadn't even thought to worry about what she _looked _like, but she could imagine. No wonder people were staring at her. They were probably wondering if the Grey Wardens had finally been reduced to begging in the streets. She took with the vial but didn't open it, anxiety stirring up the last dregs of alcohol in her stomach and making her nauseous. "Can I ask you something that's going to sound horrible?"

He only raised an eyebrow at her. She hesitated, completely mortified that she had to do this, but she really _did _need to know. "Did we have sex last night?"

For a moment, Alistair appeared to be in real danger of choking to death. He turned his head, covering his mouth so that Elissa couldn't tell if he was having a coughing fit or doing his very best not to let her see him laughing at her. It certainly sounded like the latter when he finally answered, "Um… no."

"Oh." She buried her face in her hands so she didn't have to look at him. "I couldn't remember."

"You really know how to flatter a guy."

"I didn't mean—" She groaned when she heard him chuckle softly. He was teasing her. She wondered if he would stop her if she were to go try to fall on her own sword. With a sigh, she upended the potion.

… … …

The healing potion and a quick wash back at camp did wonders for Elissa's physical condition, if it didn't help much with her disposition. At least she was up and moving again. Alistair couldn't help but feel sorry for her after watching the pathetic way she dragged herself around the city, her hair tangled and pulled back in an untidy knot and her eyes bloodshot and miserable. She looked better now, but she was still avoiding him. Not in an obvious way, just enough so that he noticed. Her eyes wouldn't meet his when she spoke, and she took to busying herself with various different chores once they returned to the camp, suddenly fixated with organizing her pack and getting all her laundry done.

By the time they went to take the first watch for the night, he'd come to a decision. And while it wasn't really his strong point—the whole stopping to think and make decisions thing—even someone as befuddled as Alistair could see that someone had to. Whatever it was that was between he and Elissa was beginning to disintegrate around him, caught in limbo because he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. She had already made the first move—a drunken move that probably would have gotten him flayed if he had taken her up on it—but he wasn't so ignorant that he didn't know the next one had to be his.

He just wasn't entirely certain what that move should be.

Everyone seemed to have felt the difference between them, and Alistair imagined he could see Zevran circling her like a predator, waiting for the first brick to fall and leave an opening that he could slither through.

Which was a _no_.

He spent most of the watch arguing with himself, trying to decide how to approach her before they were surrounded by people again. They had precious little time alone, and he had the strange sensation that their turn on watch that evening had become a metaphorical hourglass, his last chance to be with her trickling away with every passing second. Besides, seeing as how she had looked at him last night a bit like something she had found on the bottom of her shoe, it was entirely possible this conversation was going to end with her laughing in his face.

That was something he could do without an audience for.

The first watch was always the most tense, as angry bandits and Grey Warden hunters apparently couldn't be bothered to cut into quality drinking time to bother with them after midnight. They hadn't experienced a lot of trouble in camp, but there was always the amateur assassin or two looking to make a name for themselves without doing any research on his mark beforehand. Alistair was even more irritated with the possibility than usual this evening. Elissa was tense and watchful for the duration, feeling ill-at-ease after her public display of weakness today. It certainly wasn't helping _his _situation any.

She hadn't said anything to him for over an hour, and the wheel of the stars told him he was running out of time. He hesitantly cleared his throat. "Do I get to ask _you_ something?"

Elissa had been deep in thought, so lost in her own mind that the noise made her jump a little. It took her a moment to come back from wherever she was. "What's that?"

He hesitated, leery of bringing up their argument, but something had been bothering him that he hadn't quite managed to figure out. "Yesterday… I know I was being a prat, but I've been a prat before. You've never… what did I do to upset you so much?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "It's stupid. Just me being overly sensitive." She reached up to rub the back of her neck, rolling it gingerly and wincing slightly. She had probably passed out like a rock the previous evening, and not necessarily in the most ideal position.

Without speaking, Alistair moved behind her, careful fingers seeking out the bundles of tension in her back. She stiffened slightly at first at his light touch, then slowly relaxed, letting her head fall forward as he began working on a particularly difficult knot. He gained confidence in her reaction, saying quietly, "It's not stupid if I hurt you, Elissa."

She didn't say anything for a long time before asking, "Why is this bothering you so much?"

_Because I'm beginning to think I may be wretchedly in love with you_.

Oh yes—that should go over quite well.

"Tell me, please? I'd rather not do it again, and if you leave it up to me, chances that I will are really good."

She sighed. "You told me once that you wanted someone to like you for who you are." She didn't elaborate, so he nodded, trying to encourage her. "It's not such a strange desire to some of us, wanting to be seen as who we are rather than as rank." She turned her head to glance at him over her shoulder, her eyes quickly falling back to the ground. "Yesterday was the first time you've treated me differently." Alistair blinked. He had never even considered… Maker help him, he _was _a prat. Elissa was still talking, though, offering the kind of soft confession that he had been rarely privy to, and he didn't want to interrupt. "Cailan saw me the same way everyone else did, then—a valuable piece to add to his collection. You're the only person who's made me feel like _I_ was something special… to you."

Any plans he had concocted in his mind of subtle moves and flowery speeches immediately evaporated, fear that she might have thought differently now goading him to speak. "You are. I'm—I'm just really _bad_ at this sort of thing. I've never… you're the only woman I've ever felt this way about." She froze, but didn't turn around, though he saw her glimpse at him from over her shoulder, waiting. He swallowed. "I'm afraid that means you're the one who gets to watch me stumble my way through this." He took a deep breath, speaking quickly before he could remember how terrified he was. "You know I'm crazy about you. I'm not very good at hiding it."

The seconds dragged on until Alistair was positive that he had, in fact, been sitting there for _days. _He closed his eyes with a soft groan, deciding watch had to be the _worst _possible time to do this, after all. _Very, very impressive, Alistair. Hangovers and possible bloodthirsty bandits. What an _outstanding _time to spill your guts all over her._

Elissa finally turned, twisting at the waist with her hand braced beside her to look up at him. Her eyes were blue pools in the moonlight, glittering with the reflection of the stars, and he could feel himself drowning. She was close enough that he could feel a shiver of tension between them like a crackling in the night air, and found himself staring in fascination as her tongue came out to moisten her bottom lip nervously. "I'm not really sure what to do now," she confessed.

Alistair's hand came up to cup her jaw without any clear thought on his part, the lure of her eyes dragging him in. "Maybe I can help you figure it out, then," he whispered and lowered his head to press his lips against hers.

At the first touch, he felt like he was coming apart at the seams, something light and tense all at once fluttering through him. He vaguely felt his hand move to the small of her back to draw her nearer, brushing aside her supporting arm so that she had to hold onto him as he coaxed her lips apart, kissing first the top and then the bottom, more than willing to savor the simple feel of her soft lips between his for as long as he could. He couldn't remember what he had been doing all his life that was so important for him to waste all that time _not _sitting here kissing Elissa. His skin tingled everywhere it touched her, waves of warmth coursing through him and reducing his thoughts to a dull buzzing in his brain. When she pressed closer to him, her mouth more demanding than before, it was instinct that responded, prodding him to hesitantly seek the warmth of her mouth.

Heat radiated along his skin at the soft glide of her tongue against his, lighting a fire in his chest that burned all the way through him. He bent his head into the kiss, breathing her in, the next sweep of his tongue delving hungrily into the sweetness she offered. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, her fingers curling in his shirt as she answered with the same intensity, drawing forth a quiet moan from somewhere inside him. His entire body felt weak, muscle and bone turned to liquid, and knew that whatever the kiss was doing to him, he wasn't alone in it. Elissa was clinging to him, her body soft and yielding in his arms and trembling slightly. He realized how easy it would be to lower her to the ground, to feel her beneath him…

_Too fast_.

He pulled away reluctantly, pressing a last, gentle kiss to her lips, hesitant to break the contact even though he had initiated it. The silence was heavy between them, and Alistair was a little surprised by how breathless he sounded when he asked, "You're not going to slug me or anything, are you?"

Elissa laughed, sitting up straighter and turning all the way around so she was facing him. "Hadn't really crossed my mind."

"Well, that's something," he said, watching her carefully. Her skin was dewy soft and blushing prettily, her lips flushed pink from the press of his own. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maker's _breath_, you're beautiful." Elissa smiled, warm and a little shy, and he couldn't help but think that _one_ more kiss couldn't hurt…

The moment was ruined by the sound of footsteps crunching in the leaves. Both of them turned, but it was only Morrigan, standing with her arms crossed and looking disgusted. "So this has begun, has it?" She shot Elissa a look of pure disappointment. "I had _so_ hoped you would come to your senses before allowing him such liberties."

"Why does everyone think they're entitled to an opinion here?" Alistair asked as he got to his feet, irritated at the interruption and slightly mortified to be caught by Morrigan, of all people.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I am very much entitled to knowing your attentions are divided when you're supposed to be keeping _watch_."

Oh… right. Assassins and angry bandits. Funny how they had slipped his mind. "Everyone's still _alive_, aren't they?" he asked, devoutly hoping that was the case.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, but Elissa only laughed quietly, threading her fingers through his to lead him back to camp. She was smiling at him, and Alistair was struck all over again by the thought that she had kissed him, didn't seem regret kissing him, and who had time to fight with Morrigan when there was a chance he could get her to do it again before she went to bed?

Priorities, after all.


	30. Blood Magic and Roses

_**A/N**__: Sorry for the delay, folks. My video card bit the dust Sunday night and left me computerless, and I couldn't get down and replace it until this afternoon. And, there was the whole issue of me installing the card myself. It was a life and death struggle for the ages. I'll regale you with the heroic tale some other time.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty<strong>

_**Blood Magic and Roses**_

_._

_It's enough for this restless warrior_

_Just to be with you_

_~ Elton John_

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The gout of flame baked the air of the enclosed chamber, stinging her eyes and roasting her lungs as Elissa rolled out of the way as best she could, wincing as the searing heat stung her arm and filled her nostrils with the scent of singed hair and linen. She was too exposed without her armor, marking herself as a ready target in the raging chaos of steel and magic, but one of the blood mages who guarded the front rooms of the abandoned building had already robbed her of its protection. A simple act of concentration had set the metal sizzling, forcing her to pull it off and look on helplessly as her trusty chainmail popped and whined, the magical heat making it bend in on itself and shattering the rings until it was irreparable.

She rose into a crouch, her eyes frantically searching the shadows for the third mage. Through a haze of purple electricity, she spotted him ducking low behind a table as he prepared another spell.

Ducking a swing from one of the qunari mercenaries aiding the mages, she made a beeline for the offending caster. Zevran soon saw what she was doing and killed the guard he was fighting to follow her. The move left Alistair exposed to attacks from all sides. He quickly changed his stance, falling back to use his shield more than his sword as the enemies closed in around him. "Oh, don't worry about me—I've _got _it!"

Another burst of electricity flew past her, the pure manifestation of energy causing tiny bumps to rise all along her skin before Alistair's cleansing wave dispelled it, canceling out a flurry of spells that threatened to turn the entire chamber into a magical vacuum. Elissa was sure her hair was standing on end, regardless. She was still shivering from the suffocating flow of power and its abrupt loss as she slid behind the mage, slashing out with her dagger. The caster has seen her at the last moment and tried to scramble out of the way. The hurried attack caught more cloth than flesh, but she saw a thin line of blood along his ribs beneath the tear in his robe, and she had succeeded in disrupting his next spell. Zevran appeared behind the man, yanking his dagger across his throat and tossing him aside.

"Liss, watch out!"

Alistair's warning rang out across the room beneath the clash of steel. Elissa reflexively twisted out of the way just as a vial thrown at her by a fleeing mercenary collided with the wall and shattered, splattering her chest and shoulder with a few drops of clear, odorless liquid. She stared for half a second before the fabric began to smoke, and only half-thinking, she yanked the shirt off and threw it to the ground just as it burst into flame. Snarling, Aiden galloped past and tackled the fleeing man, dragging him down by the throat. The room went suddenly silent, each member of her party glancing around at each other as they digested the fact they had apparently survived once again.

Elissa nearly doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees. Zevran moved beside her, breathing heavily and reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I used to believe that the Chantry was unfair in its dealings with blood mages," he said, picking at a hole singed into his shirt. "Now, I am not so certain."

"I agree," Elissa said, scowling down at her bare skin. Another couple of encounters with these chemical-flinging pricks and she would have been fighting naked. As it was, she was stripped down to her binding cloth. Her skin was marked here and there with red splotches and dots—light burns from fire and the thrown vial of acid. Poor Alistair's eyes were glued to the floor with near-religious fervor as he handed her his cloak. She accepted it gratefully, not too keen on the thought of walking down the streets of Denerim in nothing more than her breeches. "I suppose we'd better tell Kylon he needs to take care of another pile of bodies."

… … …

Upon returning to camp for a thorough wash, Elissa was dismayed to discover her only other shirt was in as nearly as poor shape as the one she had left smoldering on the floor of the abandoned building. She was forced to borrow one from Leliana—an expensive number with a plunging neckline, loose sleeves, and a narrow waist to account for wearing a sword belt. "Keep it," Leliana told her. "It suits you."

Elissa wasn't so sure, feeling awkward without the rough scrape of linen against her skin—testament to how drastically her life had changed over the past few months. Her lack of clothes had gotten her thinking, however, and she walked around the camp, examining the equipment they had with a critical eye. She really had no idea what Morrigan might need, and made a note to ask her later, but Alistair's chainmail was in desperate need of repair, sporting a few broken rings and scorch marks. Sten's belongings were laughable, geared as he was in the only pieces they had managed to find that actually fit him. Leliana's belongings were still in superb condition, but Zevran's were beginning to show signs of disrepair, the leather worn thin in some places and frayed threads threatening to detach from vital pieces.

Elissa sighed and weighed the coin pouch in her hand, reaching out to rub Aiden's muzzle with the other. "Well, at least _you _don't need armor."

Aiden barked in reply.

To save time, she spread the coin they had amongst everyone, sending them to purchase whatever they felt they needed while she and Alistair visited the armorer. Wade was certainly on the eccentric side for a blacksmith and dealing with him tended to leave Elissa with both a headache and a sudden desire to stab things, but there was no denying the man was a genius at what he did. Unfortunately, he knew it, too, and she winced when his partner, Herren, gave her the price of a new set that would fit the qunari. But then, she had known it wasn't going to be cheap.

As a result, she settled on a plain leather vest for herself until she could afford something more substantial, but she was determined to find Alistair better protection than he had. "What can you do with this?" she asked, offering up his chain shirt.

Wade looked it over, wrinkling his nose slightly at the damage and signs of rust. "I suppose I could melt it down and fashion you a very expensive paperweight."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Bull. That shirt is dwarven make. We spent a fortune on it. There's something salvageable there. I want heavy chain."

"That'll be costly." Herren, the businessman of the pair, was quick to pounce on the deal before his artistic counterpart could mess it up. "Four sovereigns, minimum."

"Bandit! I'm not paying for whatever crazy ideas he has planned. I just want plain, serviceable heavy chain. I'll give you fifty silvers."

"The lady Warden is ever quick with a jest. That wouldn't even cover the cost of running the forge. Three sovereigns."

"I'm providing part of the materials myself."

"You're asking for customized work that'll withstand a beating, and we're more than aware of what he's capable of doing to it. You've made us rich in repairs alone. Two, then, since you're a valued customer."

"You'll provide a full set to my specifications?"

"Naturally."

"Done." Elissa handed over the money, pleased with her bargain. Wade was excessively critical of his own work—she'd probably get a couple of gold pieces worth in labor alone.

Throughout the haggling, Alistair waited patiently in the back of the shop, idly looking at the collection of swords on the wall. "You probably could have knocked him down to a gold piece."

"Probably, but I don't want him rushing Wade in his work. Throwing in a little extra helps."

He gave her a wry smile. "I must have really made an impression, for you to actually part with coin on my behalf."

She crossed her arms. "Keep calling me a miser and you'll be rushing into battle wearing nothing more than that smile of yours."

He laughed quietly and rolled his shoulders, seemingly uncomfortable without the weight of his armor. Elissa had to admit, she didn't like the idea of him walking around Denerim without it, either. Though it ached her to do it, she handed over a few more silvers to buy him a leather vest until his armor was finished.

"Maker's breath, how do you _breathe _in this thing?" he asked the moment they were outside, glaring down at the unfamiliar leather.

"Here," she said, bending over slightly to adjust it for him. "Lift your arm." She loosened the lacings, letting them play out until she could tie a knot at the very ends. "It _is _a little snug, isn't it?"

"At least it's only temporary. And we can give it to Zevran."

"True enough." He fell quiet, and Elissa looked up from what she was doing to find him watching her with an unreadable look in his eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just… you look nice. I only ever get the chance to see you in chainmail or that oversized shirt of yours." She straightened slowly. Her hair was loose and hanging down her back, and he reached out to flick a strand of it over her shoulder. "Sometimes, I can't get over just how pretty you are."

Elissa's heart started hammering in her chest. She had barely gotten a chance to speak to him at all the night before after being interrupted by Morrigan, set upon by Wynne immediately after returning to camp. Alistair's hand came to rest on her waist, and she swore she could feel the warmth of it even through the leather. "Are you trying to get me to kiss you again?"

He laughed softly. "Yes. Is it working?"

He was drawing her in, and she sank into his embrace, smiling. "I think so." He leaned in slowly and brushed his lips across hers. When she didn't pull away, he gained confidence, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his arm coming around her waist to draw her closer. Elissa had never believed anyone could have this kind of effect on her, turning her brain into mush with a single touch, but she was hard-pressed to remind herself that they were standing out in the middle of a public square and now was _not _the time to knock it up to something else. He pulled away only an inch or so, and she could still feel the warmth of his breath as he watched her carefully, the back of his knuckles gently tracing her jaw. "So… you're letting me do that whenever I want, are you?"

It took her a moment to find the words to answer, her mind thoroughly muddled. "That's the idea."

He smiled. "Good to know," he whispered before closing the distance, carefully learning the feel of her lips beneath his with the all the enthusiasm of a willing student until Herren came out and chased them away from the front of his shop.

… … …

The streets were busier than normal, the humble inhabitants of the backstreets slowly emerging from the protective walls of their homes with the sudden drop in the bandit population. Despite the sounds of laughter and the occasional friendly wave from those who recognized them, Elissa felt uneasy in the busy surroundings. It wasn't a true fear of any kind—more of a hint danger, of being watched, of muttered conversations and quickly redirected looks that caught the corner of her eye. She considered the possibility that all the threats they had encountered were simply making her paranoid, but when Zevran fell into step beside her, she felt the weight of knowing her fears were justified.

"What do you think?" she asked in an undertone, her eyes glancing about for a hurried escape route, or at least a way to take the fight out of the gathering of people who had only just begun to dare to venture outside.

"I think we are expected," he answered just as quietly, looking almost bored to strengthen the illusion they hadn't noticed anything was wrong. "This has the potential to turn deadly very quickly, _querida_. We are being tracked. I am certain of it."

"Eyes open," she muttered, keeping her hand wrapped tightly around the reassuring coolness of her sword handle. Quite deliberately, she changed their course towards the city gates, veering off the main road and down a dark side street shadowed by high stone walls. They hadn't gone far into the wind of rundown buildings when a skinny, pock-marked man with greasy hair broke from the shadows and took off at a run for a dark alley.

Elissa had felt the air before an ambush too many times not to recognize it now. "Arm!" She drew her sword at the same moment she heard a familiar voice cry out, "Warden! Behind you!"

Kylon and a handful of his men were running through the gate, desperately fighting to come to the aid of Elissa and her companions, who suddenly found themselves surrounded. Archers that had been crouched down behind barrels and crates now lined the walls, knocking arrows aimed directly at them. A wave of fighters poured out of the alley, each one fully armored. Elissa felt the rest of her party break at the same moment she did, sprinting for cover as the arrows began to rain down. "Kylon! Stay back! Morrigan!"

The witch was already casting, a tumult of freezing wind and snow erupting in the center of the mob. Startled, the men halted their attack, screaming and dropping weapons that were suddenly so cold the handles were frozen to their gloves. Elissa took advantage of the chaos to grab Zevran's arm. "Get Leliana and take the archers." With a wave of her hand, she motioned for Alistair and Sten to follow her into the fray.

Kylon and his men had caught the back line of bandits, keeping just outside of the blizzard Morrigan was casting. It was less of a battle than a brawl, Elissa and her companions shoving through and cutting down the vulnerable attackers from the front while Kylon and his men fought their way through. The bandits hadn't been prepared for these numbers against them and most of them broke, running for the safety of the main street before Leliana's arrows felled them.

Elissa killed the bandit she had been fighting and took a quick second to glance around. The archers were dead, and Sten was finishing off a pair of thugs that had tried to run. Morrigan trapped another in a cloud of crackling energy that made him drop, screaming. Only Alistair was still fighting, facing off against the leader of the ambush, a man far more skilled than the rabble he had gathered. Suddenly, Alistair staggered, his sword flying from his hand to land in the grass yards away. Elissa was quick to react, twisting and throwing her dagger. The blade whistled through the air and embedded itself in the side of the man's neck, killing him before he could make a sound.

Alistair immediately dropped his shield and doubled over, clutching his hand and swearing violently in a long stream of words she didn't even think he knew.

The fight was dying down around them, and Elissa went to retrieve her dagger, frowning in distaste at the gush of blood that came out with it. "What happened?"

"Caught me with his mace," he answered through gritted teeth. Elissa looked, and could see that the lucky blow had collided with his fingers. His other hand was curled around them, but blood dripped between his fingers, and she could see a black bruise already forming on the back of his hand. "I'll fetch Wynne."

The others were gathered in a small huddle around Kylon. Zevran was systematically looting the dead, searching for anything of value. Wynne eyed him in disapproval, but Elissa had already defended the assassin's pragmatism in that regard, and so she held her tongue. "Wynne, Alistair needs you. I think you have some broken bones to mend."

Wynne hurried over to his side, looking concerned. Kylon was staring around the scene in awe, picking his way around the number of bodies. "And people _deliberately_ attack you? Are they just _stupid_?'

Elissa smiled, quickly taking note of her party to make sure none of them hand any serious wounds before asking, "What are you doing here?"

"We got wind of this ambush and came to try to rescue you. Silly us."

She wiped her forehead with a quiet laugh and shrugged. "I don't know about that—at this moment, I've never met a man I liked so much."

He gave her a rare smile. "You _are _all right, aren't you?"

"Aside from the fact I'm covered in blood for the second time today and I think my man might have broken every finger of his sword hand, yes, we're fine, thank the Maker."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think you might have permanently crippled the underground with this confrontation. This one here—" he paused to kick the man Alistair had been fighting in the head, "—is the known leader of a dominant thieves' guild. We've been after him for years. I suggest you and your friends lay low and take your rest for a while just in case one of his lapdogs gets it into his head to avenge him."

"Done. And thank you, Sergeant Kylon."

"Thank _you_, Warden. I'll send my lads out to see if they hear anything of note. They're not good for much, but as far as I know, their ears still work properly." With a final wave, he headed back towards the market district.

"Lay low?" Morrigan asked, skeptical. "And how are we to accomplish that, precisely?"

"He is right, though, no?" Zevran shrugged. "We will have to set better watches around the camp."

Elissa thought, chewing her lip. She knew of a place they could all go and get a few days' rest, but it was a risk, and not something she wanted to do, besides. But, until Alistair's hand healed, he was vulnerable out in the open. With a long sigh, she said, "I know where we can go. Let's go get the camp packed."

… … …

As happened on occasion, the decision turned out to be a blessing. They had just finished taking down the camp when the wind picked up, howling through the trees in a promise of an approaching storm. Thunderstorms that blew in off the sea at the height of summer were nothing to take lightly, and the group barely managed to scuttle back through the city gates before the guards closed and secured them in preparation for a rough night ahead. Elissa guided the horse by the reins through the streets, ready in case the animal should find itself startled by a crack of thunder or a flash of lightning. The others followed without speaking, though she felt the questioning looks being passed behind her back as she started for the high end of the market district.

Finally, they reached a walled parcel of land lying on the very edge of the city. Elissa avoided the elaborate iron work of the front gate, leading them around the side wall to what was obviously a servant's entrance. Just inside sat a vegetable garden that hadn't been tended in a while and a well outside of a smaller building that proved itself a kitchen by the amount of soot that stained the earthen stone. The rain was heavy enough now that the party eagerly gathered beneath the overhanging of the roof just outside the door for some amount of protection. "Wait here," Elissa said. "And Bodahn, the stables are just around back. You'd better see to the horse before this storm gets much worse."

Gesturing for Alistair to follow her, she made her way around to a small window, closed tightly against them by worn shutters. He watched her for a while as she tried to pry the latched covers open before asking, "Um, Elissa? Just so we're all on the same page… we're not breaking and entering, are we?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I supposed that depends on who you _ask_."

"Ah." He looked around with a bit more interest, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Howe's got to be watching this place."

She shrugged, adjusting her grip along the bottom of the shutter and pulling with all her weight leaning into it. "It's possible, but as the Arl of Denerim, he's got a much larger estate to his name now. I'm hoping he's forgotten all about this one. Besides, I doubt if anyone is going to watch it tonight."

Alistair didn't answer, but after another moment of watching her struggle, he reached out his good hand and forced the shutter open, splintering the wood that held the hook within with a single yank. Elissa staggered back a few steps before she was able to catch herself, tempted to stick her tongue out at him. "Show off."

"That's what you keep me around for, remember?"

She clambered through the open window into the dark kitchen, disrupting a stack of crates and a cloud of dust as she tumbled inside. The smell of stale air greeted her, actually welcome, considering the circumstances. It wouldn't have done very well to end up sprawled at the foot of one of Arl Howe's men. The estate was completely quiet, the sounds of the storm outside muffled by solid stone walls, giving the entire place the impression of being asleep while the master was away. She waited for Alistair to topple in behind her, grumbling the entire time about his hand, before she went to let the others in.

The rain was coming in heavy sheets, and they ducked in gratefully. Wynne looked around at the neglected surroundings with some trepidation, lessened only slightly when Aiden darted ahead, clearly comfortable in the new shelter. She caught sight of a mounted shield on the wall bearing the white laurel of Highever and frowned to herself. "Were you friends with the Couslands?"

Elissa took a breath. She had known she would have to do this eventually, and she definitely didn't want a big fuss made over it. "No. This place belongs to my father," she said, careful to keep her voice casual.

Their reactions were very much as she had expected them to be. Leliana let out a little gasp. Morrigan and Sten simply looked bored. Zevran rocked back on his heels, rubbing his chin with a small, knowing smile on his face. "Knocking your arrow for some rather high game, aren't you, Chantry boy?"

Elissa snorted. "Me? Ask him who _he _is sometime." Alistair shot her a warning look and so she didn't elaborate, no matter how much she wanted to take the attention away from her.

Wynne wasn't about to be deterred, anyway. "_You _are the last of the Couslands?" She stared at Elissa like she couldn't quite believe it. "I apologize, no one had told me… my lady."

"Wynne." Alistair shook his head ever so slightly.

"That's not my name anymore," Elissa said, leading the way to the great hall. "And only Alistair knew. But, this is still mine, and we might as well make some use of it. My family hadn't been here in over a year, so it hasn't been properly aired out, but it does have beds and hearths, and palace servants restock the larder at the beginning of summer to prepare for our arrival. We can stay here for some time if we need to."

… … …

The storm had reached its peak, the wind rattling at the shutters and blowing the branches of the tree outside of Elissa's window against the stone with an eerie, scratchy sound that set her teeth on edge. Her companions were all downstairs, huddled around a blazing hearth while they tucked into a simple meal of bread, cheese, and smoked meat. While Elissa planned to join them eventually, she had chosen to venture upstairs into her old room alone, and none of them had tried to follow her. A tiny fire struggled in the hearth to provide her with light and a little warmth, but she was leery of letting it get too large, afraid that someone might accidentally see the light and come investigating.

Clothes and an assortment of other items were strewn about the room. Most of it was completely useless to her now, but here and there, she found an item or two worth selling. Out of a desire to have something to keep her mind busy instead of dwelling on the thought of _being _here, she began to rummage through her collection of trunks and crates, searching for anything of value.

"What are you looking for?"

The voice made her jump. She turned to see Alistair leaning in the doorway, holding a platter with his good hand. The other was completely bandaged, his fingers looking abnormally dark against the blindingly white linen that bound them. Elissa was grateful all over again that Wynne was with them. Even simple breaks were difficult to heal without magic, simply because splints and cloth and rabbit-skin glue never held the bone completely immobile. Broken fingers could have been much, much worse had she not been there. "How's your hand?"

"Aching like mad, but Wynne's trying to drug me. I thought it best to leave." He came forward, setting the platter down on a nearby table. "I brought you some food. You've been up here for hours."

"I have?" She blinked. "I'm sorry. I've been busy."

"So I see." He hesitated for a moment, apparently debating what to say before he shuddered all over. "Maker's breath, Liss, it's _freezing_ up here. What's the point of having a fire at all?"

"I didn't want anyone to see the light."

He gave her a small smile and went to toss another stack of kindling on the tiny blaze. "Your room faces the sea. Even if someone is out in this and miraculously happens to see it, I doubt they'll care."

"Oh." She blinked again. Her mind felt fuzzy, refusing to cooperate and think now that she needed it to. "Thanks, then." She went back to her task, picking up the items she had collected and dropping them into a cloth sack. Alistair reached over and picked up an ornate wooden box decorated with the patterns of interlaced whorls and spirals Fereldans seemed to be so very fond of. "What's all this?"

"Things we can sell in the market tomorrow to make up for the coin we had to spend today. Some fresh bread with supper wouldn't be amiss, either."

He nodded, turning the box over in his hand. "We haven't reached such a dire predicament that you have to start selling off heirlooms, you realize."

She laughed quietly. "That's not an heirloom. It's an old courting gift, and certainly not one that's dear to me. It'll fetch a heavy price."

"Oh, really?" Alistair settled himself on the floor, squinting to read the scrawling signature on the attached note by the light of the fire. "Who's Nath—?"

"No one," she cut him off, promptly plucking the note from his hand. "Toss it in the sack."

Instead, he cautiously opened the box. A diamond necklace studded here and there with rubies glittered brightly in the dancing firelight. Alistair's eyes went as wide as saucers. "Holy _shit_."

"I know. Pretentious, isn't it? I think it was his attempt to buy my forgiveness for leaving me."

"Attempt? It would have hit _my_ price." He glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to sell this?"

"Very. The man who gave it to me is of no importance, and I don't care for expensive jewelry. I never have. I'd much rather collect the coin for it and have some extra to buy Leliana those shoes she's been eyeballing when she thinks no one's looking."

Alistair nodded and carefully shut the box before putting it in the sack with everything else. When he spoke again, his voice was considerably lighter. "So, while this mystery suitor was out spending a fortune on you, your family had their sights set on Cailan? Poor sod. I _almost_ feel sorry for him."

Elissa laughed and moved to join him by the fire. She felt better than she had all evening, but it was making her aware of just how chilly and damp the chamber really was. She wondered how she hadn't noticed before. "Hardly. They would have been quite pleased to see us together, if they had known about it. We were both aware of how quickly marriage would be pressed on us once they found out, so we kept our involvement a secret. He was quite clever—almost ridiculously so. He was always able to come up with a reason to see me without drawing suspicion."

"So he was brilliant _and _generous. There are so few of us," Alistair said dryly. "Imagine the look of horror on your parents' faces if they had known you eventually brought _me _here."

She smiled to herself, stretching her hands towards the warmth of the fire. "I think my parents would have adored you, actually."

He looked honestly surprised by that. "Really?"

"Really. It says a lot about you, that this is the first real relationship I've ever been in."

His eyes came barreling to hers, a hint of surprise in them. "Is that what this is?"

Elissa stumbled a bit over her next words, realizing she had spoken without thinking and now afraid she had said too much. "I… I guess? I... oh, bugger and blast. I'm not sure what to say."

"So…" He hesitated, looking anxious. "No Zevran, then?" She rolled her eyes, and he was quick to defend himself. "No, I know nothing has happened _yet. _I'd like to believe you'd at least tell me, were that the case. But, you two seem so close. I just wondered…"

"No. Zevran doesn't even look at me that way. Well, maybe he does, but purely in a physical sense. I made it clear to him from the beginning I wasn't interested in him. He has women throwing themselves at him all the time. He didn't have to push for me."

"You did?"

She nodded, smiling to herself at his insecurity. "Strange, it was clear to everyone _else_ by then that I wanted to be with you. Too bad it seems to have gone over _your_ head."

He rubbed the back of his neck, flushing slightly. "Well, you know… I'm an idiot. I think I've warned you of that before? Possibly a bigger one than I realized, however. I should just… wear a warning sign, or something…"

Elissa cut him off with a kiss. He responded eagerly, his hand coming up to tangle in her hair, but he broke away after only a moment. "Wait. I have something for you. Wait right here. Just… don't move."

Elissa watched him curiously as he scrambled up and disappeared into the hall. When he returned, he was carrying a simple white handkerchief, settling himself back on the floor before handing it over to her. "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a handkerchief."

"That fancy education certainly wasn't wasted on you, was it? Open it."

She opened the cloth to find a pressed rose, still brilliantly red, the paper-thin petals shot through with blue and purple veins. It was actually quite lovely.

"I picked it in Lothering," he was saying. "I remember thinking 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would have come with their Taint and destroyed it. So, I've had it ever since."

She smiled to herself. "I had no idea you had such a poet's heart beneath all that infuriating sarcasm."

He laughed, nudging her with his shoulder. "You didn't think I'd make it too easy for you, did you? Anyway, I thought I'd… give it to you."

She wasn't expecting that and glanced up at him. "To me?"

He nodded, smiling a little. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you. This Blight—everything's been death and fighting and tragedy. But, it all brought me to you." He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just thought I should tell you. You are a rare and wonderful thing to find amidst all this… darkness."

"I…" She drew a breath, rendered speechless and unlikely to be otherwise anytime soon. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you like it. I'm on pins and needles here."

She laughed. "It's the most wonderful thing anyone's ever given me." She gently tucked the rose away between the pages of her journal before reaching back and setting it on the table, muttering quietly, "Maker help me, you have the potential to be a heartbreaker, Alistair."

"I would _never _hurt you." Elissa turned back to him. Alistair looked rather like he hadn't meant to say that out loud, nervously clearing his throat. "Well, I wouldn't. Not deliberately, anyway. There's that whole idiot factor to contend with, but—"

"Do you promise?"

He looked at her, startled, but her earnestness seemed to show, because he stopped rambling and grew abruptly serious, meeting her eyes evenly. "On my life."

This time when she kissed him, he gave himself over, pulling her closer, his tongue gently nudging her lips to coax them to open for him. She did, savoring the feel of him pressed against her, thinking she'd never get tired of kissing him; of feeling his strong arms and warm lips with the heady taste of him on her tongue. At times, she thought she could devour him whole and still not be satisfied.

He startled her for a moment when he slowly began to guide her back, but Elissa didn't object, pulling him down with her to sink into the soft rug. She let her fingers trace the firm muscles of his back through his shirt, pressing her palm against the planes of his chest, enjoying the simple feel of him as she encouraged him to touch her in return. His hand found the dip of her waist, hesitant at first, but soon it was moving across her stomach, sliding along her ribs and down over her hip, pulling her closer to him with each breath. His kisses became more urgent—despite his inexperience and a glaring line he obviously wasn't ready to cross yet, there was an intensity about Alistair that she'd never experienced before, some underlying hint that he could turn ravenous if he only allowed himself to. The notion sent a thrill up her spine, but she contented herself with this for now, not altogether certain she was ready for more just yet, either.

For long into the night, they lied with each other in front of the fire, muted laughter and murmured responses filling the dark chamber in between long kisses. At length, Elissa fell asleep right there on her chamber floor, curled against him and tucked beneath his arm. He was hers, finally, and all she had in the world.


	31. Elissa

_**A/N**__: I should warn you all, I'm fighting a really nasty cold right now, the kind where my head feels completely stuffed with cotton. So I scanned and rescanned for typos, but there still may be quite a few lurking in there._

_I really wanted to take the opportunity in this chapter to explore other characters' points of view. So just let me state right now, these opinions are supposed to reflect how the other women in the party regard Elissa—they're not necessarily meant to be accurate. Remember, they can't get in her head. Especially Wynne. Those two still don't know each other all that well._

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirty One<strong>

_**Elissa**_

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_And when she breaks down and makes a sound_

_You never hear her the way that I do_

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The night was thick and damp, the fog settling over the city streets like a gauzy blanket of grey, heavy enough to soak through the thin fabric of her cloak. Leliana shivered as she pressed against the cold stone wall of the dark alley, listening hard for the telltale jingle of tack that would signal a patrol in the area. The fog was both a blessing and a curse. While it made it easy to slink along the streets without notice, it also made it difficult to spot the pairs of guards that circled the area.

Beside her, Elissa dared to peek around the corner, checking for signs they were being followed. "I think we're clear."

Leliana had already been sure of that, but didn't say so. They hadn't exactly left anyone alive _to _follow them. While her conscious attempted to prick her on that matter, she held no love for Arl Howe or the swine that disguised themselves as his knights. The heavy sack of gold they had been defending at the warehouse would be put to better use serving the Wardens.

"Blast," Elissa muttered beneath her breath, looking around. "Where did Alistair go?"

Leliana glanced up and down the empty street, but Alistair was dressed in dark clothes, cloaked and hooded to try to avoid being recognized, since the idea of him passing undetected was laughable. Or at least it had been, before the fog rolled in. Now, he blended in with the misty night as efficiently as any rogue could hope to.

She caught sight of a shadowy figure across the road ducking in front of Wade's Emporium, and tapped Elissa on the shoulder, pointing him out. Elissa watched him through narrowed eyes as Alistair hopped the fence to a modest house next door and crept up to the door. There were several baskets outside, likely dirty clothes waiting to be laundered, if she were to guess by the many lines hanging in the yard. She heard the telltale sound of a good number of coins being dropped into one of the baskets before he covered up the money and ducked back into the shadows, headed in their direction.

Leliana raised an eyebrow at her friend, waiting for an explanation of this odd behavior. Elissa looked like she was struggling with a conflict of emotion, caught between admiration and annoyance. "I'll explain later." Despite her resolution not to speak more than necessary until they were safely out of Denerim, she couldn't seem to help herself when Alistair joined them. "How much did you give her?"

Alistair didn't quite look her in the eye, flushing so that Leliana could see it even in the dim light of the torches along the streets. "Enough."

Elissa looked like she would have liked to say more, but bit her tongue instead, regarding him with a kind of fond exasperation. A low, short whistle from above made all three look up. Zevran peered down from the rooftop, pointing towards the gates and holding up three fingers. Guards, headed in their direction. Elissa sighed. "You'll just gain their attention if you try to hide," she said to Alistair. "Head toward the gates. We'll be right behind you."

He looked a little unsure. Leliana knew that it was against his instincts to leave them on their own, but in this instance, his hesitation couldn't be tolerated. Alistair was a necessary element to the theft itself, perhaps, but in this, he was little more than a hindrance. "Go on," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "We will catch up to you before you even realize we're gone."

He nodded slowly and tugged once more at the hood of his cloak before starting down the street. With a tiny nod in her direction, Elissa ran across the street and into the shadows. Though she had some experience with stealth before this, Elissa had taken to Zevran's training remarkably quickly, able after a few weeks to blend into her surroundings so thoroughly that even Leliana couldn't detect her as she made her quiet way toward the city gates. She had often thought that had Elissa would have made a wonderful bard, given her quick mind and unusual beauty, and her new training certainly hinted at a strong aptitude for the skills she would have needed. Though Leliana was inclined to do her best to forget the past she had left behind in Orlais, old habits were often difficult to discard completely, and some small, shadowed part of her mind knew dangerous competition when she saw it.

Elissa had shown almost no interest in Leliana's particular brand of talents, however. Instead, she had begun taking lessons from Zevran. Leliana had to admit that his style suited her well, merely honing skills she had already known. It made Leliana wonder if those who had trained her had some knowledge of an assassin's style as well, given her approach in battle and her rudimentary knowledge of herbs.

Alistair was less than thrilled when Elissa began taking an interest in various poisons that might add a bite to her razor sharp blades, but he was keeping his silence about it. He would be much more content, Leliana thought, once he just learned to accept that beneath the laughter and smiles and bouts of uncertainty, Elissa had the potential to be a powerful woman. With that came a certain degree of ruthlessness. She would do what needed doing, even if it meant exploring shades of grey. Alistair honestly loved that about her, whether or not he could see it himself.

Leliana had just ducked behind a stack of crates to avoid the approaching guards when she heard Elissa groan quietly the other side of the crates. Just ahead of Leliana, Alistair paused momentarily, looking startled, before he hunched down lower in his cloak in an obvious attempt to hide himself. Leliana risked a quick glance down the street, curious. Kylon was headed towards them, a couple of his men flanking him and talking loudly.

Eyes narrowing, she scanned the rooftops until she caught sight of Zevran and held out her hands as if to ask what had happened. He only shrugged, smiling. Leliana scowled. She had certainly not expected such sloppy scouting from a Crow, of all people, and suspected Zevran might have done it just of seeing Alistair get harassed by the city guard. He certainly would feel no qualms about cutting these men down.

She owed him another kick when they got out of this.

Leliana held her breath as Alistair passed her, carefully crouching low and edging around the corner so she could see what was happening. Kylon glanced in his direction, distracted at first, but then did a swift double-take, his step faltering momentarily. Her hand immediately tightened around the handle of the dagger she kept in her belt, saying a silent prayer to the Maker not to let things come to violence. She admired Kylon very much and would hate to have to fight him, but between the two, Alistair certainly came first in her mind.

The guards passed on without comment.

Leliana let out the breath she had been holding, and heard Elissa do the same behind her. She straightened up and saw Elissa's hand come away from her own dagger as she crossed her arms, frowning a little in confusion. "Okay, there's _no way_ Kylon didn't recognize him."

Leliana laughed when she realized what had just happened, agreeing, "I think he is pragmatic enough to decide he would rather not know what we're up to."

Elissa joined in her laughter and risked stepping out of the shadows. "I suppose we should just give up with this stealth nonsense and make his life easier by moving quickly then, shouldn't we?"

They stole out of the front gate and left the city behind them, setting a quick pace down the road towards the waiting companions. As they walked, Leliana took one last look at the city, admiring the collection of plain, solid buildings and the towering shadow of the only slightly more glamorous royal palace in the distance. Orlesians laughingly mocked the capital of Ferelden, but Leliana had discovered she liked the place very much. She had enjoyed the busy streets and different shops, each person and item displaying the simple common sense that ruled Ferelden. Val Royeaux was stunningly beautiful with its spiraling architecture and exotic gardens, but Leliana had come to resent its sheer pretentiousness over the years. The elegance and glamor was nothing more than a mask, using paint and finery to disguise the corruption that lurked beneath, like flowers blooming over a fetid pond. Denerim might have been plain in comparison, but Fereldans had a wonderfully gritty way of letting you know _exactly _who they were.

_Goodbye, Denerim_, she thought to herself as she hurried to catch up to her companions. _May the Maker show you happier times once this is over_.

… … …

The moon was at her zenith, the glowing ring of purple that surrounded her more visible than it had been previously, shining brightly through the moist curtain of grey. Though an admittedly lovely effect, Morrigan recognized it for what it truly was—an omen of troubled times. Twice she had seen the ring before the battle at Ostagar, the tides of which had plunged an entire nation into chaos. She wondered at its portend now, whether it be a warning of danger in their path, or simply a reminder of the constant peril that threatened the land. She knew that the others questioned her presence within the group, suspicious of her motives, and for the most part, they were justified. Yet Morrigan bore no love for the darkspawn, either, whose blackened presence corrupted the very essence of nature. It behooved her to try to read the signs the universe granted her and aid the Wardens to the best of her ability.

No insight was granted to her during her long mediation, and at length, she scrambled to the top of the branches, watching once again for any sign of the group's return. She caught sight of them up the road, moving quickly and silently in the gloom. Without thinking, Morrigan dropped down from the tree on a thread of webbing, eight legs hitting the ground with a dull thud. Elissa immediately screamed and fell back. She had a difficult time recovering herself, even after Morrigan had shifted back into her human form. "Maker's _breath_, give me some warning, will you?"

"My apologies," she said, rather insincerely. It was hardly her concern if Elissa couldn't overcome her irrational phobias. She went about adjusting her clothing after the shift, but not before she noted Alistair's eyes flash over her. Almost immediately, they determinedly dropped to the ground. Disgusted by her as he attempted to be, Alistair was not _completely _immune to her charms. Such worked only to Morrigan's advantage, but instead of the satisfied feeling she had indulged in on previous occasions, his regard made her feel somewhat uncomfortable. She unconsciously tugged at her top again, suddenly feeling bare.

It annoyed her.

Forgetting all about the omen, she turned to stalk back to the cart without a word, climbing into the back with a scowl. She detested riding in the rickety, uncomfortable contraption, but Elissa had warned her to save her magic in case they were followed, and she had already risked enough with one shift. While Morrigan had never doubted the ability of the rogues to make their escape, she had rather expected the entire Denerim guard to be chasing them after Alistair insisted on going along. She was startled to note the ease with which he moved in the shadows, as graceful and controlled as a predator cat, even if silence laid beyond his ability. He was truly a warrior in every sense of the word—it was only when he opened his mouth that doubt had a chance to set in.

Bodahn clucked nervously at the horses and the cart lurched forward, speeding them down the road and away from Denerim as quickly as they could go without gaining undue notice. Once they reached the open road, Morrigan decided it safe to speak. "Can we assume you were successful?"

Elissa nodded, though she made no effort to remove the hood from her head, huddled down in her cloak as if she were cold. "They didn't keep much of a watch."

"That, and your plan was brilliant, _querida_," the assassin said with his usual smirk. Morrigan had been tempted on more than one occasion to blast it off his face. "I bow before you. Or I would, if I were not so very rich now, and thus above such things."

Alistair pulled back his hood and ran a hand over his hair. Morrigan noticed for the first time there were darker stains against the faded black of his cloak—likely blood. "True enough. After Elissa got us in, there was nothing more than a bunch of hired thugs. They went down easily enough."

Morrigan sniffed. "They deserved no less."

A silence fell. Morrigan felt her brows draw together in confusion, wondering what she had said this time to cause this uncomfortable feeling that fell between them. Elissa shook her head as if shaking off a thought and sat up a bit straighter. "We should keep going until morning, I think. We can sleep during the day." She clambered over the topmost edge of the cart, moving to join Bodahn and Sandal in the driver's seat.

Morrigan looked at Alistair. Though her patience for his conversation was indeed short-lived, his penchant for speaking every thought that entered his head tended to give her insight into these things that she otherwise lacked. He caught her gaze out of the corner of his eye, sparing her the tedium of his usual wit, as they were momentarily united in their concern. "There were a couple of Howe's men guarding the perimeter," he said in a low voice, trying to keep the conversation between the two of them only. "I think she recognized one of them… from that night."

Morrigan felt suddenly hot and cold at the same time, anger mixing with another emotion she didn't know how to give name to. She was certain her reaction had nothing to do with the way her mind jumped to considering how Elissa must have felt, but rather was triggered by the mention of the arl. The man's cowardly tactics and use of hired brute force to disguise his own sniveling weakness never failed to repulse her. "Did you kill him?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her. "That's a little bloodthirsty, don't you think?"

"Did you?"

"I didn't _have_ to," he said, a little sharply. "Elissa slit his throat."

Morrigan crossed her arms. "Good."

"'_Good_?'" He stared at her incredulously. "Some of us only kill when we have to. Maker's breath, you really are a heartless bitch, aren't you?"

She smirked, only increasing his annoyance. "'Twas not _I_ that killed him."

Alistair didn't seem to have a response to that, crossing his arms and settling down into a sulk. Morrigan sensed the real reason for his irritation, and barely kept from rolling her eyes at him. "And what did you believe, Alistair? That a few pretty words and hints of your awkward brand of affection would mend the fact that man took everything from her? Does it satiate your own bloodlust? I rather doubt it." He still didn't answer, and Morrigan lost interest in arguing with him.

Leave it to male arrogance to believe that _he _could ever be enough.

… … …

The sun was beginning to break over the horizon, warm golden rays slanting through the trees to pool in the thick grass. Wynne smiled as she watched Aiden squirm happily, rolling onto his back as he basked in the honey light. All around her, the camp was being set up, its inhabitants yawning quietly, eager to catch some sleep after the long night. Wynne had already gotten her share of rest in the waiting, and she looked forward to a long, quiet day of light chores and reading.

Across the camp, she saw Alistair and Elissa supposedly setting up Elissa's tent, though there seemed to be more play going on than actual work. It had become apparent to Wynne during their stay in Denerim that the Wardens' relationship was certainly headed to something more than innocuous flirting, and now she wondered if it hadn't already. Alistair had disappeared the first night in the estate, and they were both young and impetuous. It was highly possible they were sharing a bed already.

She frowned.

She was genuinely fond of Elissa—the girl was charming enough for the most part and had such an infectious, wonderful laugh it was nearly impossible not to like her. Yet there was something just a little off about her, as well. She was a soul given to brooding, as was made evident on more than one occasion, and her temper flared faster than anyone Wynne had ever met. She often wondered if the spirited girl laughing with Alistair wasn't simply someone Elissa _wanted _him to see. She had been through so much, and given her noble upbringing, Wynne had her doubts a mind as sheltered as hers must have been was strong enough to have survived the ordeal wholly intact.

The knowledge that Elissa was a Cousland had disturbed her in more ways than one. The Couslands were high-ranking, very rich, and extremely popular. Elissa had probably experienced her choice of young men her entire life. Wynne didn't care for the idea of Alistair being used and then forgotten by a girl who might have just been trying to stave off a bout of loneliness.

When Elissa joined her by the fire, taking a moment to mend the hem of her cloak before heading down to do her wash, Wynne had made up her mind to say something about it. "You're quite taken with each other, aren't you?"

Elissa smiled, looking a little sheepish as she tucked as strand of hair behind her ear. "Is it that obvious?"

"It's hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks he gives you, especially when he thinks no one's looking." She took up her own mending, trying to keep her voice casual. "Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt."

Elissa's sewing abruptly stopped. She looked up with a small frown. "I'm not exactly a master at relationships, either, Wynne. We just… it just _happened_…"

"And you have been aware it would for some time. Each one of us has seen the way you look at each other." Wynne shook her head. "And, you are equally aware that it's unwise, or you wouldn't have waited as long as you did. You are both Grey Wardens, and you are the daughter of a teyrn. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires."

Elissa dropped her mending back into the basket and crossed her arms. Wynne saw the way her back stiffened and her eyes flashed. That temper of hers really was troubling. "I fail to see how any of this has to do with my responsibilities, _or _who my father was."

"Indeed? And once the news of your survival spreads across Ferelden? The nobility remember your family well, regardless of what the arl claims. What will they say if they see someone like Alistair at your side?"

Elissa pressed her lips together mulishly, but beneath the anger, Wynne detected a faint look of hurt in her eyes. "Do you really think I'd do that to him?"

"I've said what I wanted to say."

"Bully for you. It's a shame no one _asked _you to." She got up, scooping up her basket in hard, jerky movements that bespoke how upset she really was. "Sometime, Wynne, you might want to consider feelings other than what you wanted to say."

She stormed off towards the river. Wynne only sighed.

It was late morning before Alistair returned to camp, carrying a load of damp clothes beneath his arm. He didn't say anything, just went about draping the garments over available trees and rocks. Wynne waited until he was nearby to ask, "Where's Elissa?"

"Down by the river beating her clothes into shreds, I'd imagine. Good thing we bought her more."

"I see." She picked up her scissors and clipped another length of thread. Honestly, robes were _not _the most convenient attire for this kind of travel. Sometimes she was tempted to wear breeches and shirts like Elissa did. "I may have upset her earlier."

"She told me."

Wynne glanced up, curious at the flat tone of his voice. Alistair sat down beside her, yawning widely and rubbing his face with both hands. It may have been possible he shared the same doubts she did. "You don't sound angry about it."

"I'm not. I don't think I am, anyway. I may just be too tired to notice." He looked at her, giving her a wry smile. "But, if you're asking me if I agree with you, I can't say that I do."

"No, I didn't think that you would." She shrugged and returned to her sewing. "I can't help but have concerns. Yet, I didn't mean to upset Elissa. I only wanted to talk to her. It's possible I was more blunt than I needed to be."

"You might consider telling _her _that." He glanced down in the direction of the river. "Uh, but… probably not right now."

Wynne rolled her eyes at the implication. "Perhaps you shouldn't have to work so hard to find her in a decent mood."

He gave her a pointed look. "_I _don't."

"I think you should be careful around her, Alistair."

He sighed. "Wynne, I know you mean well. I do. And I appreciate you looking out for me. But, you have to consider that maybe you don't know everything. There may even be things that I understand that you just… don't. You barely know her."

She set her mending down, fixing him with a firm look. "And you do?"

He didn't even flinch, as was his usual reaction to her anger. "Yeah, I do. Elissa's not crazy. She's just not Leliana. And a good thing, too—it wouldn't do for us _both _to be chronic babblers."

Leliana looked up sharply from the other side of the camp, her fingers pausing on the strings of her lute. "I _heard _that."

He smiled. "Be proud of who you are, Leliana. Anyway, I had a point, but I don't really remember what it was. Just… don't worry so much. Elissa keeps to herself, but she's tougher than she looks." He got up, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I've got to sleep, and right now. Stupid midnight heists."

Alistair ducked into his tent, leaving Wynne to think about what he had said. Leliana continued her song, saying just loud enough be heard over the music, "He is right, you realize."

Wynne wasn't completely convinced. Elissa could be charming when it suited her, but she was also calculating and even ruthless. There was a cold streak in her that threatened to turn to madness if she let it. But then, Wynne thought with a surety that made her feel very, very tired, in these dark times she would seem splendid—a heroic figure to a populace only slightly less mad than she was.


	32. Soldier's Peak

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

_**Soldier's Peak**_

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_Remember the difference between a boss and a leader; a boss says "Go!" A leader says "Let's go!" _

_~E.M. Kelly_

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The morning was so wonderfully warm and bright, Elissa decided to lie down on a blanket outside of her tent, dosing in the sun beside Aiden. She couldn't quite remember the last time she had been so tired, drained by the dramatic mood swings she had experienced in the past twenty-four hours, and then having _dearest_ Wynne kick her while she was down with the assumption she was using Alistair for some sort of cheap thrill while on the road. He had managed, in his typical way, to calm her down and make her see reason before she said something she regretted, but she still thought it best just to ignore the old woman's presence until she had a chance to sleep. Confrontations had a tendency to go south quickly when she was as tired and grumpy as she was.

The dog happily curled up at her back, staving off the minor breeze that danced through her hair, lulling her into peaceful oblivion. Within moments, she was fast asleep.

It was midafternoon before she stirred again, still feeling sleepy, but something had woken her so abruptly her senses were on full alert. She rolled over and opened her eyes, squinting against the glare of the late sun at the tall, dark figure that loomed over her.

She was on her feet in a flash, her dagger drawn and ready before her mind cleared enough to realize how unlikely it was for anyone to have snuck right up beside her without the rest of the camp noticing, particularly Aiden. The poor man immediately fell back out of striking range, landing on the ground with a soft thud and shielding his face with his arm. "Peace! I'm a friend! I only came in search of a bit of help."

Elissa lowered her dagger, her heart still racing and feeling slightly embarrassed at her overreaction. "Here's a bit—don't _hover _over a woman while she's _sleeping_."

The man nodded, more than ready to agree, and relaxed somewhat at the evidence he wasn't about to be skewered. "Advice that's well-noted, Warden. My apologies."

Elissa heard a quiet laugh and glanced over at Zevran, who was seated beside the cold fire pit and chuckling to himself as he sharpened his daggers. She glared at him, her hands on her hips. "That wasn't _funny_."

He shrugged, flashing her an unapologetic smile. "That depends on your perspective, I am quite sure."

The commotion had also awoken Alistair. He stuck his head out of his tent, still looking bleary-eyed and rubbing one eye with the palm of his hand. "Sup?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Gladly." He ducked back inside, and she heard him collapse back onto his bedroll. Elissa shook her head and sheathed her dagger before reaching down to offer a hand to the fallen man. "Excuse my friends. They have an odd sense of humor at times. What did you say your name was?"

He took the proffered hand, getting back to his feet before saying, "Levi Dryden at your service, my lady. I've a tale for you, if you've a mind to hear it."

… … …

The foot of the mountain was still cold, the summer heat dissolved by chilling winds that blew out of the caverns at her roots. The only safe path to the fortress was through miles of dark, the caverns opening up to a path near the summit where the ruins of Soldier's Peak hovered grey and foreboding against the horizon. Even at the entrance of the sprawling collection of caves, Elissa could feel the Taint in her blood frothing, warning her of the frightening number of darkspawn that dwelled in the tunnels, waiting for the unwary traveler to bumble through. Beside her, Alistair was just as antsy as she was, his hand tight on his sword hilt as he cast Levi a skeptical look. "How did you get through here before?"

Levi sucked on his teeth, thinking. "I'm not rightly sure, ser. I heard the darkspawn well enough, but they didn't seem to take much interest in a bloke like me. Stirred up the caves beneath me, but I never saw one. It might be that the path is too close to the surface for their liking."

It might have been, but Elissa sincerely doubted it. She saw the pale visages of her companions and knew none of them liked this idea any more than she did. But, she had made a promise, and she intended to keep it if she could.

The first encounter with the darkspawn was little more than a skirmish, but the darkness and stale air of the caverns was sapping the morale out of her friends more effectively than the enemy had any hope of doing. When the echoing chorus around the bend indicated more monsters ahead, Elissa made a flash decision, snorting loudly enough to make sure that Alistair heard her.

"What is it?" he asked.

She smiled. "I killed mine faster than you did."

He looked highly affronted by this. "You did not!"

"I did. Look—yours is on top. That means mine fell first."

"It stalled because it was bleeding out. Dead before it hit the ground."

"A likely story."

Morrigan rolled her eyes, but Leliana laughed, recognizing the Warden was whistling in the dark to keep the shadows at bay. With a quirk of her eyebrow, she pulled back on her bow, aiming for a looming figure at the back of the mob. "Five coppers say I can drop the big one before you two get there."

Alistair glanced at Elissa, reckless excitement lighting his eyes. "Oh, you're _on_," he said as they broke at the same moment, sprinting for the howling horde.

… … …

The top of the mountain was eerily silent, the wind whistling along the crags, bringing gusts of dust and heat in the thin, dry air. The stench of death hung heavy over the place, incomplete skeletons littering the courtyard in a grisly reminder of a battle that had been fought centuries before. All around her, should could feel the same indefinable presence she recognized from the journey through the Circle Tower—a strange stillness that gave the impression of the walls holding their breath in anticipation. The sensation made Elissa uncomfortable, like the light stroke of invisible fingers against her skin. She shuddered. "The Veil is torn here, isn't it?"

"Definitely," Alistair answered in an equally low voice, his eyes darting into the shadows, carefully on alert even as he spoke to her.

"Demons?"

"I'd bet the last of my cheese reserves on it."

She stopped. "You told me that was already gone!"

"Not really the time and place, Elissa."

"Right." She chewed her lip in thought. "Take the rear guard. I'll take point."

He nodded in agreement. "Be careful."

She joined Morrigan in the front, motioning for the witch to join her. Morrigan's arms were crossed tight over her chest, eyeing the human remains in evident distrust. "Am I the only who believes that those corpses are unlikely to remain immobile for long?"

"Not in the slightest," Elissa said with a sigh.

The vision hit without warning. One moment Elissa was looking up at the deteriorating ruins of the Peak, and the next, she was in the middle of a battle, the fortress looming impressively over her as men scrambled all around her. In the chaos, one man seemed to hold authority over the others, shouting orders with the air of someone accustomed to giving them. "Fall back!" He growled beneath his breath, looking up at the fortress in disgust. "I gave the Wardens once chance to die with honor. Instead, they hole up like cowards. We follow the king's advice, then. Starve them out."

"But, Soldier's Peak is provisioned to last for months."

"Then we'll wait. When they are too weak to lift their weapons, we will send them to their final judgment."

Elissa barely had a chance to comprehend she was seeing a vision at all before it was gone again, leaving her feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous. Behind her, she could hear Leliana reassuring Levi, and knew the others had seen it, too.

Morrigan set her chin in her hands, curious. "A haunting. 'Tis strange, indeed. It seems there is more than one type of entity that claims Soldier's Peak."

Elissa was still shaking, sweat beading on her forehead in the hot sun. She felt a bit out of place next to Morrigan's scholarly calm. "Awesome."

… … …

An unnatural, chill wind permeated the air within the stone walls, stirring the dust at their feet and causing the cobwebs to flutter around them in ghostly clouds. Beside her, Alistair shut the heavy tome he had been reading with a thud, stirring up a new cloud of dust. He looked as disillusioned as she felt. "They were using blood magic."

"They were doing more than that," she said, studying the intricate rune work that covered the floor and the adjoining walls. There was a hollow, sinking feeling in her stomach she wasn't sure belonged more to Alistair or to her. "I may not know much about magic, but that's a summoning circle."

He was quiet for a long time. "We'll have to cleanse this place before we leave it. Left like this it's a rotting wound on the mountain—no wonder the darkspawn are drawn to it."

"Do you know how to do that?"

"I can cleanse it, but a mage has to shut the gate. We'll have to see if Morrigan or Wynne can do anything."

… … …

The demon was weaker than Elissa had anticipated, the decomposed body of Sophia Dryden too far gone to be of much use to it anymore. It fell to the ground in a clang of armor and a stench of rotted flesh, then lay completely still.

Alistair sheathed his sword, looking grimly satisfied. "See, _this_ is why Grey Wardens aren't supposed to get involved in politics."

Elissa shot him a warning look, her eyes flicking to the grey, defeated form of Levi Dryden, who wandered the room with the look of a man who wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Alistair seemed to realize how thoughtless the remark had been and looked immediately remorseful.

"Levi, are you okay?" she asked quietly.

The man roused himself enough to stare at her blankly for a few moments before he shook his head, coming back to his surroundings from whatever labyrinth of thought he had been lost in. "She was supposed to have been a hero."

Elissa sighed, idly running a fingertip through the dust on the ancient little table and leaving a long line in its wake. She wasn't sure what to say to him to make him feel better. Being a woman who was pushed into a difficult place time and time again herself, she found it hard to sympathize with anyone who would allow the things Sophia had condoned in the name of victory. Yet none of that had anything to do with Levi, an inherently decent man who wanted only to stop carrying a stain on his honor he hadn't put there.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair pluck something small and silver from the table and deftly slip it into his pocket before he knelt down next to the corpse. His question was directed at Levi. "Do you want to build a pyre?"

Levi considered for a little while, and then shook his head. "No. Whatever that thing was, it hasn't been my great-great-grandmother in a long time. I think I might have learned something here, about letting sleeping dogs lie. We can just burn it with the rest of the bodies. No need to stand on ceremony."

They were quiet as they left the room and started across the bridge outside. As they walked, Alistair took advantage of the small reprieve and the empty fortress being at their backs and caught up to Elissa. "I wasn't just stealing back there, you know," he said. "Well, I _was_, but I think this is ours, anyway." He reached into his pocket and produced a ring—a wide, flat band with a square herald engraved into it—and dropped it into her open palm. She recognized the same double griffon she had seen on Sophia Dryden's breastplate. "What's this?"

"A signet ring for the Warden Commander. Duncan had one like it."

"Okay. What am _I_ supposed to do with it?"

He apparently found that amusing, smiling down at her. "Elissa, right now you _are _the Warden Commander of Ferelden."

She blinked. "Huh?"

He laughed softly. "And fortunately, you're usually a bit quicker on the uptake. Think about it. It isn't me, and who else is there? We'll need _something_ to prove who we are, and the authority might as well go to you."

"What if I don't want it? You're the senior Warden here."

"I don't think you have much of a choice in the matter, love. You're the one this rabble listens to, not me. I'm nothing but your plucky sidekick."

She rolled her eyes at the familiar self-disparagement he was so annoyingly talented at. "You _know_ that's not true. You're my best friend."

He laughed, dropping back slightly so he could slip his arms around her and pull her close. "I know. And as such, I officially concede all authority that the two of us impressive figures wield unto you. These people are your problem."

"Gee, thanks."

… … …

The gaunt, withered face was completely unfamiliar to her, but something in the eyes reminded Elissa of the visions they had been granted in the keep. "Avernus?"

The old, watery eyes regarded her solemnly. "That was my name at one time, I suppose. You understand, it's been a long time since I've been given any company other than the demons."

"But… how are you still alive?"

"A combination of my research and blood magic. The Chantry foolishly condemns blood magic, but there are so many secrets to uncover. I have used it to extend my life and keep my body alive, but my time is drawing to a close. I must finish what I began."

Alistair was fuming, every muscle in his body straining with the urge to control himself. "And you're just so important that the others were worthy fodder? I would hand you over to the templars in a second if I wasn't going to take such inordinate pleasure in draining you myself."

Elissa whirled around, shocked. "_Alistair_."

"_No_. This filth disgraced the Order, turned this place into a home for every type of demon before he turned around and used his brothers and sisters for test subjects!"

Avernus looked him over carefully, a hint of condensation twisting his thin, dry lips. "They were necessary. Any tool, any iota of information that could defeat the fell demons was justified. As a Warden, you should know that."

Alistair shook his head in disgust. "I've had enough of you blood mages tearing up the Veil left and right all around us. Let me tell you something: _Nothing good_ _ever comes through_. Ever. I don't know what makes each you believe that this time it'll be different."

Morrigan managed to shock everyone there, including Alistair, by agreeing. "For once, the templar speaks some sense. Only the weak would think to seek assistance from such a duplicitous entity as a demon, and yet they are convinced that they would maintain some control. Honestly. You have seen what his hubris has accomplished well enough. You would do well to kill him where he stands and ensure this world suffers one less disillusioned incompetent."

Avernus' eyes were smoldering, shame stealing through the haughty pride and revealing whatever was left of him that was still human. "I am still a Warden," he said, very quietly. "As such, I'm willing to hand myself over to your judgment for my crimes. But I ask you—let me correct the mistakes I made in the past. Let me cleanse this tower. I can close the gate, but the demons will fight me every step of the way. I cannot be disrupted while the spell is cast. Do this, and I will submit."

Elissa watched him through heavily lidded eyes, considering. "Then I guess for the time being, we're allies."

… … …

The evening was cool and a little damp, fog rolling in from the coast to settle over the camp in dewy clouds. Elissa closed her eyes and listened to the ruckus of chatter coming from the woods, the scamper and twitters of a normal forest rather than the eerie silence that had encompassed the entire area.

Alistair wasn't completely pleased with her decision, but he wasn't angry, either. More than anything, he just seemed baffled, watching her with a degree of trepidation as they went about their regular routine before night fell. "Just tell me one thing, Elissa," he said quietly as soon as they had a moment alone. "Why? Avernus is as much a monster as the darkspawn beneath the mountain. Why let him live?"

She shrugged and set her empty bowl aside, waiting until the others had finished eating before she would collect them and take them to the stream to wash. "He knows more about the Taint than either of us. He can _tell _us things, Alistair, tell us about _what we are_. Don't you want to know more than the fact it'll kill us in thirty years? And as long as he's not hurting anyone... I'd like to see where his research takes him."

He was quiet for a long time. "You want a cure."

Something dark and shameful filled her at hearing it said out loud, but she couldn't deny the truth of it. "Don't you?"

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I never thought about it, to be honest."

She looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I have. I went into my Joining blind and grieving, only half aware of what I was doing. But I want a husband, and children, and all the things I never knew I wanted until I couldn't have them. I know that it's unlikely, but if there's a chance… I'd be nothing more than a hypocrite to kill Avernus, when he only wants the same thing I do."

"I haven't noticed you killing and torturing to get those things. And Avernus wants _power_, Elissa. There's nothing in that bag of bones even remotely interested in being normal."

She looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "Don't _you_ at least want the chance, however faint it might be?"

He didn't answer right away, and after being privy to his experience in the Fade, Elissa was well aware she was hitting him below the belt with the argument of wanting a family. Instead of getting angry, though, Alistair only sighed again, reaching out to touch her fingers softly. After a moment of thought, he looked up. "We'll have to keep an eye on him."

She smiled. "We will."

.

.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**_**:**_ Long note, so I decided it best to stick it at the end._

_Sorry for the long wait there, folks. I've been really unhappy with the past few chapters, and I needed to catch my bearings and decide where I was going instead of meandering all over the place. I also went without internet for about three weeks, so if you didn't get a reply to a review, I'm really, really sorry. I'm back online now, and responses will be regular again._

_Also, I was fighting with trying to figure out just how much of Soldier's Peak I wanted to put in this story. The writer in me knows that this chapter was crucial to the story's sequels and needed to be done, but the side of me that didn't really want to write it argued that you all knew what happened, anyway. As a result, just to get myself motivated again, I decided on the summarizing flashes rather than full game narration. I apologize for that, but I really just didn't have it in me. Besides, I'm eager to get on with things._

_In other news: For those of you who don't know, I'm in the process of posting downloadable chapters of both this story and the updated version of _Here Without You_ on deviantART, including chapter illustrations. So, if anyone wants to see Elissa and gang as they appear in my mind, you can find me there under the same name. The link is on my profile. I know a few of you have visited me there already, so thanks for all the kind words and notes! They really do make my day._

_I've also updated my profile to include my Livejournal and Tumblr links. I'm seriously short on friends on those sites, so by all means, send me an invite._


	33. Frostback

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

_**Frostback**_

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_Wherever you go, go with all your heart. _

_~Confucius_

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.

The night was unusually warm, the dry heat of the mountains lingering long after the sun had gone down and presiding over a nighttime camp of restless sleepers and buzzing insects. The forest was alive with the chattering and scampering of wildlife, making Aiden stamp nervously just outside the tent, where he kept a reluctant guard after being unceremoniously kicked out. An overall feeling of wakefulness filled the air, aided by the sound of people shifting and tossing in an attempt to get comfortable, and it was making more than just Aiden antsy.

"Shh! We're supposed to be _sleeping_."

Elissa laughed at Alistair's self-consciousness and slipped her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, letting her fingers lightly trace the small of his back. She smiled when she felt him tremble. "You act like they don't already know you're in here having your way with me."

He let out a long sigh and lifted his head, fixing her with an exasperated look. "I prefer not to dwell on just how much they know."

"Even if they haven't already heard us, I'm sure they've noticed the absence of that snore of yours."

"I don't snore." His mouth on hers cut off any further protests. Elissa sighed into the kiss, rolling onto her back and drawing Alistair down to her. His lips were warm and soft despite the sweltering heat, moving against hers with the surety he had discovered after a few weeks of these late night trysts. He knew _exactly _how to kiss her, his tongue dipping and teasing along hers, stealing away any inclination she might have had to belabor the point. His fingers moved up to tangle in the damp hair at her temple before his mouth left hers, leaving a light trail along her jaw. "Hmm. I seem to have found a way to win an argument. Finally."

"You didn't win. I'm conceding."

"Same thing."

"It is not. I—" The rest of her clever retort was lost as he ducked his head to taste the sensitive hollows of her throat. Elissa felt her limbs go pleasantly weak in response to the feel of his open mouth on her skin and allowed her head to fall back, granting him better access. A small sound of pleasure gurgled in her throat, and she immediately felt the shift in him, the way his arms tightened around her, the feel of his leg riding up between hers in a desire to get closer.

Unlike the boys of her youth, Alistair never seemed to feel the need to rush, languidly exploring each new step of being together with a careful attention to her reactions she had never experienced before. As each night continued to find him stealing into her tent after their turn on watch, she could feel her desire for him building in slow degrees, increasing each time he dared to venture a bit further. He had never attempted anything more than kissing, really—never even tried to get under her shirt—but there was hunger there that he couldn't hide from her entirely. She could feel it in the way his hand trembled as it slid up the outside of her thigh, taste it in his quiet groan when her leg curled around his hip. He wanted her—of that she was absolutely certain. The knowledge gave her a heady feeling.

He had just gained the confidence to slide a hand up her hip to rest on the bare skin of her waist when they both heard footsteps approaching.

Alistair moved off of her so fast he knocked over a stack of books that had been hastily shoved aside. They toppled over and landed on his shield with a loud clatter. Elissa clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a fit of laughter. "_Very_ smooth."

"_Shh_!"

"Elissa?" Leliana's voice drifted through the canvas, sounding a bit uncertain. "I am sorry, but there is something you need to see." There was a pause, followed by an unmistakable smile in her tone. "If Alistair can spare you for a moment, that is."

"I'm not in here! Oh… wait… _damn_."

Elissa chuckled at his wry smile, rolling to her side so she was pressed against him again. "I suppose we should go see what she wants."

"If you think it's _really _important." He kissed her once more, pausing to mutter against her lips, "We'll pick this back up in a bit."

"You're damn right we will."

The night air outside of the tent was only slightly cooler, a gentle breeze blowing just enough to tease the beads of sweat along Elissa's skin and make her shiver as she followed Leliana to the spot where Morrigan and she were handling the midnight watch. Morrigan took one look at their rumpled appearance and scowled. "Honestly, do you two do _nothing _else?"

Elissa only gave her a smile. "I doubt you dragged me out here to question me about my personal habits," she said, though she saw Alistair hurriedly tucking in his shirt. "What's going on?"

In response, Morrigan pointed towards the horizon. At first, Elissa saw only darkness, but after a moment, she thought she saw what might have been a flicker of light against the black of a neighboring mountain. As she watched, she realized she was seeing several lights, all spread along a small patch of land beneath the moonless sky.

"What do you make of that?" Leliana asked from beside her.

"Torchlight," Alistair said immediately. Elissa looked harder. He was right enough. "That has to be a town. _Finally_." The relief in his tone was evident, and Elissa felt a small stab of sympathy for him. Alistair had been poring over the map they found in Denerim harder than any of them, riddled with guilt for dragging them out so far with nothing to show for it thus far.

"Are there any other towns on the map near here?" she asked. He shook his head. Elissa nodded, equally reassured to finally see some justification to this hike, as well. "It can't be more than a couple of days from here." She thought for a moment. "Keep an eye on it, anyway. See if you can't get a better idea of where it is. We must have missed the path miles ago."

Leliana laughed softly. "And where are you two disappearing to in such a hurry?"

"We need our rest." Alistair said with a small tug at Elissa's hand. "Nightmares and whatnot. Very important that we get our down time."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "You can't be _serious_."

Elissa shrugged, laughing when Alistair tugged on her hand a bit more incessantly than before. "Grey Warden business. You understand."

… … …

Elissa had seen the challenge coming for some time. Sten's generally impassive countenance had given way to glowering more often than not since they had reached the base of the mountains, his disapproval and near-hostility rolling off him in waves every time Elissa tried to speak to him. Still, she seemed to be the only one who wasn't startled when he stopped in the middle of the road, stubbornly dropping his pack in the dirt before he crossed his arms over his chest. "Interesting strategy. Tell me: Do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the Archdemon from the rear?"

Elissa felt every muscle in her body tense. Sten was glowering, his eyes fixed on her in accusation. She felt her hands automatically go to rest on the hilt of her swords, sure this wasn't going to end peacefully. "We've been over this before, Sten. We need Arl Eamon."

"The _Archdemon_ is our goal. And we are heading away from it. To find the charred remnants of a dead woman."

Elissa stopped and turned to face him, trying not to dwell on how far she had to crane her neck to look up at him. "You of all people should understand that we need his _army_. I admire your ability to focus solely on the Archdemon, but throwing ourselves at it with no preparation is nothing more than a very efficient way to get ourselves killed. "

"And what exactly are we doing to prepare ourselves? It seemed to me that we were climbing a mountain in the middle of nowhere on some frivolous whim of yours."

Alistair began to object, but Elissa held up a hand, stalling him, and tossed her hair, crossing her arms in front of the angry qunari. "_You're_ the one who claimed the chance to redeem yourself. Just how easy did you think that was going to be?"

Sten's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and she knew she had finally struck a nerve. "I will not simply follow in your shadow as you run from battle. Not anymore. I'm taking command."

Alistair and Zevran both snorted loudly enough for Sten to hear them, darkening the qunari's glower even further. "By all means, take command of all those willing to follow you," Zevran said almost lazily. "This distraction you have provided is not nearly amusing enough."

She could have just let him go. The others certainly didn't look like they were inclined to follow him anywhere, and the absence of those dark eyes and constant questioning would at least make her stop doubting herself at every turn.

Yet, Elissa couldn't bring herself to do it. If she let Sten walk away after confronting her like this, she would lose standing in the eyes of everyone present, whether or not they were even aware of it. Something strong and alive and snarling with pride woke inside of her chest, stealing away reason and leaving only defiance in its place. Not taking her eyes from the qunari, Elissa undid the clasp on her cloak and handed it to Alistair. "Hold this for me."

He stared at her, horrified. "_No_."

"Fine." She tossed it to the ground. "Just stay back."

"Elissa, stop_." _He reached out and grabbed her arm. "I've put up with a lot of buckets of crazy from you, but now you're going to get yourself _killed_. Just let him go. We don't need him."

She didn't have the time to try to make him understand. "You've got to let me do this."

He was going to object again, but something in her eyes seemed to stop him. He released the breath he had drawn in to speak, his eyebrows drawing together in worried exasperation. Elissa saw his hazel eyes flick towards Sten before he released her, shaking his head. "This pissing contest only goes so far or I'm stepping in. Fair fight or no."

She couldn't deny that made her feel a bit less shaky. "Deal."

Drawing her blades, she turned towards the bronze giant, hoping that she was successful in hiding her trepidation as she eyed his enormous, muscular frame. Elissa had witnessed his prowess in battle enough to know that speed would be her greatest ally in this fight, a tactic that was only reinforced in her mind when the first two-hand blow fell with incredible strength behind it. She managed to get away just in time, but the flat of the sword caught her wrist, and she felt it jar through her to the marrow in her bones, followed by a screaming pain that raced up her arm and nearly made her blackout. Sten apparently had no hesitation in cutting her down.

Elissa grit her teeth against the pain and stepped in with equal fervor, dodging and striking as quickly as she could, painfully aware she wouldn't be able to parry those massive swings for long. The others were silent as ghosts as the two hammered away at each other, Sten's growls becoming more and more frustrated as Elissa continued to refuse to be where she had been standing only a moment before, rolling and ducking and covering him with shallow cuts that hampered his movement.

He was wearying—Elissa had been watching for it, and so saw it the instant his guard dropped only slightly. It was all she needed. With all the speed she could muster, she side-stepped a downward swing and captured his blade in a cross-down of her own swords. Before he could recover, she lifted a foot and kicked out over the lowered weapons. The blow caught him directly in the nose, sending blood splattering all over his face as he reeled back, landing on his back in the dirt, his sword flying from his hand.

It seemed everyone began to breathe again at the same time. Sten rose to his knees, reaching for his weapon. Elissa felt a twinge of fear go through her, sure she couldn't withstand another attack, but Alistair was suddenly there, sword drawn and angled at the qunari's neck. His voice was low and deadly serious. "You're done. She could have killed you then."

Sten only stared at him, his hand still halfway to his sword. Alistair flicked his wrist, the slight movement revealing a small trickle of blood running down the qunari's throat. "You're _done_."

Sten looked at him for a long, tense moment. "Agreed. I yield. But to her, not to you."

Alistair only shrugged and sheathed his sword. "Fair enough."

Elissa hobbled a step closer, trying not to double over and let Sten see just how close that fight had been. "You'll follow my orders?"

He looked surprised. "You would allow me to remain?"

"I would say that's up to you."

He lowered his head, his hand over his heart in a sign of fealty. "I will follow."

"Good. Wynne, mop him up." Without another word, she turned and started up the mountain path, letting the others fall in behind her. Every muscle in Elissa's body was throbbing, but she wasn't about to turn and ask Wynne for a quick healing spell in front of Sten. As she trudged along the road, trying to ignore each complaint of her body, she had to admit her stubbornness amazed even her at times.

… … …

"Oh, for Maker's sake, stop _squirming_."

"I can't." Elissa wrinkled her nose, all but whining as Wynne continued to dab salve on the number of shallow cuts that marred her hands and arms. "That stuff _stings_."

Wynne rolled her eyes, trying hard not to laugh at the Warden's childish reaction, especially considering her real injuries. "I think you might have cracked a bone in your wrist."

Her pout only became more pronounced, accompanied by a muttered curse beneath her breath. "Son of a dirty, drunken _whore_. How long is it going to take to heal?"

Wynne sighed and shook her head. "I sincerely doubt you used that kind of language in Highever, young lady."

Elissa gave her a sly grin, contagious enough to make Wynne laugh softly beneath her breath. "You might be surprised."

"Indeed. Or perhaps Alistair has been a worse influence on you than we all thought." She meant it teasingly, but after their previous discussion about the relationship, Wynne immediately realized she hadn't yet earned the right to be as light-hearted about it as the others. Elissa's frown deepened, going from something playful to dark in a matter of seconds.

Wynne hadn't tried to speak to Elissa alone again during the weeks it had taken to travel from Denerim to the mountains. The girl didn't seem to hold a grudge for long, but even still, there was definitely some air that needed to be cleared between them. Wynne liked to think she was a mature enough woman to do it, difficult as it was. "I've been meaning to speak to you for some time," she said, careful hands probing at the injured wrist as gently as she could, trying to ease the pain there before she bound it. "I have watched you for a time and... perhaps I was wrong. There seems to be something special between the two of you."

She didn't add that was as much as an understatement as anyone was going to make. That Alistair and Elissa were falling in love with each other was obvious to everyone, but in the time she had watched them, she had come upon another, slightly more disturbing discovery. They _knew_ each other. Something that went beyond friendship or infatuation or even love bound them together, drawing them towards each other in a way that she couldn't even begin to understand. Even in the press and heat of battle, they always knew where the other was, working in perfect harmony with each other. Their burgeoning feelings were simply strengthening something much more primal that already existed between them.

She only wished she knew what it was.

Elissa was quiet, watching while Wynne tended to her wrist. At length, she said, "Thank you," in a quiet voice that left no room for further apologies. She might have known Elissa would expect nothing more than that.

Wynne nodded and finished her work. "What you have may not last forever; death and duty may part you, but love's worthiness is not diminished because of that. I should have seen this before. Instead, you learn to cherish every precious moment that you spend together, knowing that it may be the last."

"You really swing from one extreme to the other, don't you?"

She laughed to herself, aware of how she must have sounded. "I suppose there's a measure of absolute in every scenario when you get to be my age."

"Wynne, just… don't worry so much. We can't do anything more than take each day as it comes."

The elder mage frowned to herself, not sure of capriciousness was the way to treat the situation. "There may be folly in that way of thinking."

Elissa shrugged. "We're being tossed by circumstances beyond our control. All we can do is take them as they come. It might just be what lets us keep going." The deep blue eyes met hers evenly. "Especially when you and I both know that the odds of us actually gathering these armies are near to none."

The Dalish would say that Elissa had old eyes—the soul of a much older woman looked out through them, sure mark of a person who had seen too much and been allowed to do too little. Wynne wondered how she had never noticed it before. "I hadn't realized you were aware of that."

She shrugged again, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "It wouldn't do anyone any good to think about it too much."

"I suppose there might be some wisdom to that way of thinking."

Alistair joined them then, flopping onto the soft grass with a long sigh of contentment. "Your tent is standing, my lady. More or less, anyway."

Wynne thought he looked altogether too passive for someone who had just watched his woman in a fight for her life, but Elissa apparently thought otherwise. She was watching him closely, a faint hint of concern lurking around her mouth. "Have you calmed down yet?"

Alistair gave her a wry smile. "I haven't killed him, if that's what you're asking."

"Promise me you won't try later?"

"Apparently." His arm came around her shoulders, pulling her closer and pressing his lips to her forehead. "No more of that, please."

She laughed softly. "It admittedly wasn't one of my better ideas."

Alistair smiled and got to his feet. "Come on, beautiful," he said, gingerly pulling her up by her good arm. "I think taking a broken bone in the name of leadership entitles you to a free ride down to the river."

With a laugh, Elissa hopped onto his back. Wynne could hear her laughing all the way down the hill, her ebony hair shining in the late afternoon sun as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear, drawing forth a muttered chuckle of his own.

Wynne only shook her head at herself.

Old souls, indeed.


	34. Haven

_**A/N**__: Well, folks, it's been a long time in coming, but Shades of Grey is officially sitting in completed form on my hard drive. What say we be finished with these hiatuses and get this damn thing posted already? _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Four<strong>

_**Haven**_

_._

_Ain't nothing more dangerous than a fool with a cause._

_~ A Time to Kill_

.

.

Even from a distance, the town of Haven looked grey and dreary, the scant populace moving here and there with their eyes cast downward. The thin air became even thinner and cold, an icy wind from the mountain peaks slicing through the bright summer sun above, making the trek up the side of the mountain difficult going. Alistair couldn't quite fault Elissa for her shortness of patience when the guard standing at the weather-beaten gate began to refuse them entry without as much as a greeting.

"What are you doing in Haven? There is nothing for you here."

Elissa's eyes immediately narrowed, clearly in no mood to summon the will to be winsome and charming after so many weeks spent searching for the place. After several rounds of heated arguing, the man relented with a glare that would have frozen her in place, had it been anyone but Elissa. "You can trade at the general store if you wish, but then I suggest you and your companions _leave_." He waved them through without another word, watching them through beady eyes the entire way.

Alistair glanced around the worn village and shivered. The area was unnaturally quiet, the shadow of unrest seeming to hang over the entirety of the village. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair could see drapes hastily drawn shut; children rounded up and dragged inside. He leaned closer to Elissa. "Did it just get colder up here?"

On her other side, Zevran laughed softly. "Ah, quiet, insular communities. There's always something nasty going on behind closed doors." He grinned. "I hope it involves chains."

Elissa ignored both remarks, nodding thoughtfully. "I think we'd better find out what it is they're hiding."

Alistair sighed. He was afraid she was going to say that.

… … …

"This is breaking and entering, you realize. And assault, I'm fairly certain."

Elissa rolled her eyes at him, but only for a moment, intent on the task at hand. "And it would go much more smoothly if you would stop distracting me."

He returned the eye roll, but didn't say anything more, watching as Elissa prodded at the heavy lock with her tools, the tip of her tongue just visible at the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. Finally, the lock clicked open in response to her probing. The shopkeeper protested loudly against the gag in his mouth and tried to lurch forward, but Alistair put a firm boot on his chest and shoved him back to the stone floor. "Stay _down_, already. What part of that plan of attack did you think was going to turn out all right for you, anyway?"

The moment the door opened, the stench of old blood and decay wafted through the building, accompanied by the sound of buzzing insects. Alistair's stomach lurched uncomfortably. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

The grim look in Elissa's eyes was all the answer he needed. Giving the shopkeeper another small kick for good measure, he followed Elissa into the back room, bracing himself for the gruesome sight the met them.

The man had obviously been murdered, his throat slit so brutally the blade had severed his spine. The body was propped up against the wall in a sitting position—Alistair recognized the pose from his templar days as a victim whose blood had been harvested for ritual purposes. Alistair covered his nose with the back of his hand as he knelt down beside the body. "That's the crest of Redcliffe."

"One of Arl Eamon's knights?" Elissa managed to sound sympathetic despite her obvious disgust with the scene.

"For certain." He got up and turned away, unwilling to look at the body for longer than he needed to. He was furious, and saw no real reason to hide it at this juncture. "I'd say that settles that, wouldn't you?"

Elissa was looking at him with some concern, but her nod was firm enough. "For certain."

… … …

Six months ago, if anyone had tried to tell Alistair that he would one day raise his sword against unarmed peasants, he would have cheerfully informed them they were crazy. Of course, he also would have said it was crazy to believe that Teyrn Loghain was a traitor, that Alistair would be one of only two Grey Wardens left to defend Ferelden against a Blight, and that he would one day be venturing into a village of zealots with an assassin and an apostate as _companions_ to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Perhaps it was time to reassess his definition of the word.

Whatever qualified as crazy during a Blight, though, Haven seemed to have a firm grasp on it, and it was catching. As Alistair cut down a populace armed with nothing more than pitchforks and the occasional crossbow, he knew his outrage was dangerous enough that it wouldn't have mattered if they _hadn't_ attacked first. These people were _killers_, preying on innocent travelers to feed whatever form of fanatical blood magic held them in thrall.

He kept telling himself that, but still, that didn't stop him from wincing when he saw Zevran throw down a woman by her hair and calmly slit her throat.

"Interesting place, this Haven," the assassin said, letting his own distaste show through for only a moment as he wiped his dagger clean on his pant leg. "It is not very often that I am witness to such delightful examples of unrestrained insanity."

"This can't be the entire town," Elissa said, wiping the sweat from her brown with a bloodied dagger still clenched in her fist. "Think they're setting up an ambush?"

"Unlikely." The assassin looked thoughtful. "I rather think that pathetic excuse for a mob was their best attempt at an ambush. We might assume the others are elsewhere."

… … …

Elissa could only gape as the dragon flew overhead, the wind roaring in her ears as the enormous wings kicked up clouds of dust thick enough to momentarily blind her. She reflexively ducked behind a column in the ruins, but still Alistair's arm came protectively around her, shielding her with his cloak from the debris in the air as well as from sight of the dragon as he swore softly beneath his breath. "Maker's breath, those lunatics were _serious_."

Elissa had doubted the authenticity of the claims made by the cult, herself. If she had known, she certainly wouldn't have brought them even this far, necessity or no. The dragon settled some distance away, curling its wings around itself as it looked down over the mountain. Inadvertently, Elissa ducked down further, trembling slightly at the sight of the beast. She felt Alistair's arm tighten before he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "We're going to have to be careful with this one. A high dragon is nothing to take lightly."

"I think I probably knew that already." Elissa dared to peek her head out to survey the setting. There was nothing but stunted grass and rocks as far as she could see, but a few of the boulders were large enough to offer decent cover. She pointed them out to Alistair. "We could probably make it over there before she sees us."

"You and Zevran could, anyway," he said. He looked deep in thought, eyeing the dragon with a wild recklessness in his eyes she didn't trust _at all_. "That will give you both clear positions at her back."

Elissa whirled on him, barely remembering to keep her voice down in her incredulity. "Tell me you don't intend to _fight_ that thing."

He only gave her a sunny smile, confirming her suspicions. She groaned, drawing forth a small shrug from him. "I'm not exactly known for my skill in sneaking, Elissa. Might as well be prepared rather than caught while I'm trying to do some sort of really loud combat roll into a clump of bushes."

It was a fair enough point, she had to admit. "You would still have to lure her down _yourself_. Are you sure you're up for something like that?"

Alistair thought about it for a moment. "I _think _so. With Wynne's help. And as long as the rest of you move in as soon as possible."

Elissa sighed and eyed the roaring beast at the summit with a shiver of dread. The odds of them sneaking by it were next to nothing, especially with Alistair and Sten in the group. And they were covered in the blood of the beast's hatchlings from their fight through the caves. She would sense that immediately. "If you're sure…"

"Might I interject?" Zevran asked, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual as he looked back and forth between the two. "That is a _dragon_." When the others just looked at him, he glanced at them each in turn. "I'm sorry, were you requiring further argument?"

"We don't have any choice. And we outnumber her. Come on Zev," Elissa whispered encouragingly, "We can take this thing."

Zevran sighed as if cursing the forces that had thought it funny to throw him in with this lot, but drew his daggers. "I would just like to state that if we live through this, Leliana does not get to be 'the crazy one' anymore."

… … …

"Alistair, look out!"

The warning came too late. Elissa could only look on as the dragon's powerful tail slammed into the Warden, sending him flying back to land hard in the dirt a good distance away, his sword spinning out of his reach. She heard him groan as he tried to push himself back up, winded but apparently not hurt too badly.

The dragon was weakening, blood flowing from several vicious wounds, but the pain only made her that much more deadly. She was whirling furiously on all of them now, any semblance of control in this battle hitting the dirt alongside Alistair. He had managed to keep the fight focused on him, allowing for Zevran and Elissa to made dangerous nuisances of themselves at her back, but now Elissa could only yelp and throw herself out of the way when a razor-sharp claw missed her by a few inches. The dragon reared up and spread her wings, buffeting the air into a storm of dirt and rocks. Blinded, Elissa staggered back, desperately trying to get an idea of what was going on. Another screech from the dragon, and she saw Zevran thrown down beside her, his daggers bloodied to the hilt and his hair streaked with red. He leapt to his feet and pulled Elissa back into the fray, shouting as he ran. "Keep her grounded!"

Nodding, Elissa followed his lead as he sank his daggers into the scaly hide, using them as handholds to scramble onto the dragon's back. A flash of steel glinting in the sun, a gush of blood, and the dragon stumbled, one wing torn at the base and useless, dangling from her side. Unable to reach the second wing, Elissa settled for scuttling along the dragon's back until she was straddling the long, ridged neck. Taking a deep breath, she plunged both her blades into the sides of its neck.

The dragon began to flail around in agony, its roars splitting through the air. Elissa was tossed from her perch, but grit her teeth and hung on, tearing a long line through scale and muscle before she fell to the ground and rolled. The dragon howled in agony, glaring down at her through a haze of rage and pain. Elissa gulped and scrambled back. "Alistair! Get your ass back over here!"

Alistair was already running, scooping up his sword as he sprinted toward the fight. "Move!"

Zevran managed to get out of the way in time, but just as Elissa got to her feet, a powerful blow across the middle of her back sent her flying. She hit the ground with a hard thud, the breath completely knocked from her body. She managed to roll onto her back, heaving as she tried to draw in a breath, but could only watch as Alistair rushed in, his arm slamming into the neck of the dying dragon to swing himself onto the back of her neck. Without hesitating, he reared back and brought his sword down in a powerful plunge that ripped through the base of her skull and out the front of her throat. The dragon reared in agony, unable to howl out its final protest before collapsing to the ground.

Alistair toppled into the dirt right beside Elissa's prone form, looking a bit dazed. "That ought to do it." He glanced her way as she managed to suck in her first real breath, coughing and sputtering in the dirt. "You all right?"

She coughed, her voice still sounding slightly choked. "I hate you so much."

He only laughed. "No, you don't."


	35. The Urn of Sacred Ashes

_**A/N**__: For the record, the riddle segment in the temple is one of my absolute favorite parts in the game. The riddles and answers are so wonderfully worded, offering a beautiful story of their own, but there was absolutely no way for me to write them all down without making it redundant. Even though I really, really wanted to._

_Oh, and Suilven… I might have been mistaken about that one scene being M-rated. It really needed to go here, instead :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Five<strong>

_**The Urn of Sacred Ashes**_

_._

_If I could help you forget_

_Would you take my regrets?_

'_Cause I remember everything_

_~Five Finger Death Punch_

.

.

Within the crumbling walls of the ancient temple, a hallowed silence rang. It seemed to seep from the cool grey stone, to linger on the gauzy cobwebs that swayed in an unseen wind. Never before had Elissa felt anything as absolute as the rising sense of _another_, a presence that watched and waited, aware and yet distant at once. No matter how many times she tried to shrug the sensation away, it persisted, definite but not necessarily uncomfortable. Rather, her companions fell into a respectful silence that even Morrigan seemed slightly hesitant to challenge.

"'Tis old, this place," the witch said, her voice pitched low as she glanced around in a hint of insecurity she never would have allowed anyone but Elissa to see. "Far older than I imagined."

Elissa nodded, having come to that conclusion already. "Do you sense any magic here?"

Morrigan considered that for a long, careful moment before answering. "Perhaps. And old power—not magic as you may envision it. 'Tis strange. I have not felt the like since leaving the Wilds."

Elissa wasn't sure if that was supposed to console her or not.

… … …

The doors opened with a rumbling creak and a puff of dust, revealing a corridor beyond. Elissa stepped forward warily; the Guardian's candid questions still crawled through her mind, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. Her discomfort bared itself as a nervous kind of anticipation, heightened senses and an acute sense of anxiety that she usually felt right before battle.

At her side, Zevran was also strangely silent, watching his own feet as they moved further into the temple. She had never seen anything unnerve the elf before, but there was no question that the distress he had experienced during the questioning was real. He couldn't quite meet her eyes, frowning to himself in the dim grey light. Elissa knew him well enough to realize that prodding would only earn her a lurid comment buried somewhere within a sarcastic reply. Zevran would tell her when he was ready. She could do nothing for him but wait until then.

Given the strange atmosphere, she wasn't nearly as startled as she should have been when the spirits appeared. They came like thick gatherings of mist, oozing from the dampness to billow and sway along the walls, all looking at her expectantly. At the end of the room, a heavy door blocked the only other exit. She turned to Alistair. "I suppose it's too much to hope that that door is unlocked."

"I think that might be absurdly optimistic at this point."

"Right." The last thing she wanted to do was approach a ghost on faith that it wasn't there to slaughter them all, but then, she had been expected to do much worse than that since leaving her home. Taking a deep breath, Elissa moved forward to the closest spirit, an image of a young girl that was much less intimidating than the others, though she never would have admitted that to anyone else.

The girl looked at her with strangely intelligent eyes, speaking in an echoed memory of a young voice. "The smallest lark can carry it, but a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"

She blinked. _Riddles_? Elissa was devout enough when it suited her own purposes, and she knew the story of Andraste's life and betrayal, but her knowledge didn't extend beyond the broad story taught to all Andrastians. She had never taken the time to study it in any sort of depth. For a moment, she cursed herself for not bringing Leliana. She glanced over her shoulder at Alistair, who was watching her curiously, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had stumped her. "How well do you know the story of Andraste?"

He just gave her a pointed look. She conceded with a shrug and got out of the way. The spirit immediately acknowledged the change in authority, looking at him expectantly. Alistair hesitated for only a moment. "A tune."

"Yes," the girl said, rewarding him with a small, sad smile. "I was Andraste's friend from childhood. They say the Maker himself fell in love with the sound of her voice, and then she sang no more of simple things."

And so it went, spirit after spirit telling the story of Andraste's life, betrayal and death. As the story unfolded, voiced in the lost memories of those who had been there, Elissa realized for the first time what a monumental task was set before her. The Urn of Sacred Ashes had served as nothing more than a tale in her mind, an object of speculation that people could believe in. Yet here she was, in this strange temple with its ancient magic. _Something _was here, she was certain, but for the first time, she wondered if she could possibly be the one allowed to find it.

She welcomed the feel of Alistair's warm hand slipping into hers, offering his silent support against her sudden wave of doubt despite the confident demeanor she was trying to maintain.

It never fooled him, anyway.

… … …

Alistair had been feeling rather pleased with himself after the first test of the temple. It wasn't very often he was able to step forward and not feel like a complete fool.

Whatever smugness he entertained disappeared almost immediately when he saw the lone shade waiting behind the heavy doors. He would have recognized the teyrn immediately even if Elissa hadn't suddenly sucked in a sharp, painful breath beside him. At first, he could only stare. It didn't make any sense. The Guardian had questioned them all at the entrance to the temple, equal in his ability to make them squirm uncomfortably at his uncanny knowledge of their lives. But this... only _Elissa_ would be moved by this figure. For a moment, he wondered if they were all seeing different things, but immediately knew that was wrong. Morrigan and Zevran only wore faintly confused expressions, and he was certain that if this was a group thing, it wouldn't have been Bryce Cousland to appear before him.

The answer came to him against his will, obvious regardless of how much he didn't like it. The truth had been lingering in his mind for a long time now, begun what seemed like ages ago with the small nudge Flemeth gave them in the Wilds after the tragedy at Ostagar.

"_There are other powers at work here, which warned me to find you and save you both for some purpose only they know of. I am old enough to know that it is very unwise to begin arguing with them."_

All of this—from the first moment when Duncan had been in the unlikely position to save her life against every conceivable rule of logic—it had always been about Elissa.

Something like panic began to claw at him, searing through his chest. Up until now, he had refused to consider the possibility that Elissa would be the one to end this Blight, to finally face the Archdemon. He'd always imagined it would be _him_ standing between her and the hideous beast that haunted their worst nightmares. But this temple and the eerie sensation of destiny that seemed to trace their path through it was hitting him hard, making him feel very small and unimportant to a greater story unfolding, one that he had no control over. Without thinking, he pulled on her hand, stopping her when she would have moved towards the ghostly image of her father. "Liss, stop. You don't have to go."

She turned to him, questioning. There was a look of such longing in her eyes; a need to grab at a faint hope that she might finally find some answers. If he stopped her now just to silence his own growing fear, she would never forgive him. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, even though the loss of it made his fingers tingle.

She stepped forward slowly, unsure. "Da?"

The spirit gave her a small smile. "Hello, sweetling."

Elissa's voice sounded strange, thick and slightly strangled as if she were having difficulty speaking. "Da, is that really you?"

The spirit's eyes, clearer than any other feature, grew sad as he looked back at her with a slow shake of his head. "No. You know I am lost to you. Nothing can change that."

"But…" Even though her back was turned to him, Alistair could picture her chewing her lip like she did when she was anxious. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded very small. "I miss you."

It was hard to tell, but he thought the ghost might have sighed in response. "And I you. Never would I have wished to see you in such pain. Would that I had chosen my friends more wisely, as you have."

Alistair saw her back stiffen, her chin raise in defiance. "I'll kill him for what he did."

"That's your hatred speaking." The spirit's too-human eyes became grave, shadowed by sorrow. "I never wanted that for you. Never forget who you are. If you do, all of this had been for naught." He reached out as if he would have touched her cheek, but an invisible barrier still separated them. Still, Elissa leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. "Let it go, my precious Elissa." The plea was nearly lost as the illusion broke and blew thin on imaginary winds. "Let _us _go."

The spirit faded into nothing.

Elissa went as still as a statue, her breathing labored and echoing in the absolute silence. Alistair had no idea what to say, hesitantly reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Elissa?"

She turned, her eyes swimming, and threw herself into his arms. The movement startled him at first. She was curled into his chest to hide her face, but he could feel her shaking all over. His arms came around her of their own accord, muffling a quiet sob she was obviously trying to keep hidden. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morrigan raise a hand as if to reach out, but she quickly dropped it, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and frowning to herself.

Alistair gestured towards the next room with his chin, keeping his voice low. "You two go see if you can't get an idea of what's ahead. Give us a minute."

For once, they did as he said without snarky comebacks, moving cautiously together into the gloom. But even once they were alone, Alistair could think of absolutely nothing worth saying that might help Elissa come to grips with this. A hundred ideas floated through his mind, each one stupider than the last, until he was frustrated enough with himself that he considered the possibility the best thing he could possibly do for her was keep his mouth shut.

At length, Elissa loosened her hold on him, leaning back slightly to sniffle and wipe at her eyes. "Ugh. I can't believe I'm standing here blubbering. You must think I'm an idiot."

Well, at least they were on a similar thought process. "Yes, because we all know how prone to hysterics you are," he said dryly and shook his head. "Are you okay?"

She drew a deep breath, still quivering. "I will be."

"Elissa?" She looked up at him, rubbing her eyes dry with the heel of her hand. He was completely certain this was the wrong time, but she was standing there looking open and hurt and the words burned in his mouth beyond his capability to hold them back. He tucked a strand of her hair back, his thumb brushing a stray tear that lingered on her cheek. "I love you."

She didn't respond in turn, but then, he really hadn't expected or necessarily wanted her to. Suddenly the only important thing was that she knew, before he took another step on this insane, impossible, doomed mission that had brought her to him. She surprised him then, resting her head back on his chest before saying softly, "I don't know how I'd do this without you."

He bent his head to kiss the top of her hair, feeling calmer and more clear-headed than he had for a long, long time. He'd made a promise to her that day, back when she had only been a stranger to him—the other surviving Warden, as lost and alone as he was.

"_You will go with her?"_

"_Of course I will. You think I'd leave this to her to do alone?"_

She needed him.

That was all that mattered.

… … …

Zevran and Morrigan were waiting just around the corner. The elf's arms were crossed, tapping his foot with a hint of impatience that Alistair was fairly certain wasn't aimed at them, considering his usual concern for Elissa. It was confirmed a moment later. "You are doing to _despise _what lies ahead."

Elissa gave him a curious look before she risked a glance around the corner. Alistair heard her emit a faint groan at the sight. "Oh, you've got to be _kidding _me."

Alistair rolled his eyes and leaned over to get a look, tired of waiting for someone to fill him in. He wasn't over surprised to find even more ghosts up ahead-in fact, he was a little disappointed to see more of the same after that build-up. He was about to say so, but then it suddenly dawned on him what he was seeing. "Wait… is that _us_?"

"Indeed," Zevran sucked on his teeth, clearly annoyed. "Some nonsense about facing your inner demons, or something to that nature, I am sure."

He felt his stomach drop a little. "More questions?"

Zevran shook his head. "They are armed. You might try to start a conversation, but I don't believe you will be very successful."

The thought made Alistair feel strangely better. Battle, at least, he knew.

The spirits left them almost no time to react, rushing in the moment they stepped into the room. Alistair immediately took a defensive stance, circling an image of himself that was equally waiting, shield raised and prepared against attack. He realized that he always began battle that way, watching his opponent to try to get a feel for their style before moving in for the attack.

He sighed. This was definitely one of the stranger things he had ever had to do.

He shifted his stance, aware that speed was probably his greatest weakness, and moved in with a ferocity that would hopefully startle his opponent into making a mistake. Every move he made was dodged or blocked, and he began to wonder just how much damage a non-corporeal weapon would actually be able to _do _to him, or if this was just some elaborate illusion set up to slow them down. He was still wondering when his ghostly twin spun on his heel and swung. The shield certainly _felt _solid enough when it knocked him in the chest, a solid blow that dropped him where he stood. He fell hard, a little winded and a lot surprised.

He hadn't realized he was quite that good.

He managed to roll back to his feet just before his counterpart cleaved him in half, using his opponent's momentum to kick him off balance and send him stumbling. A quick glance told him that his friends weren't fairing much better. The fight was bordering on ridiculous, because they couldn't outfight _themselves_, and they took a moment to meet each other's eyes and make sure everyone was thinking the same thing before Elissa called, "Switch!"

Zevran rolled in front of him just as Alistair spun and found himself face to face with phantom Elissa. It was unnerving—_more _than unnerving—to see her beautiful eyes narrowed in fury and coming for his blood, but what made it even worse was trying to fight back. Alistair forced himself not to look at her face, to coldly run Elissa's tactics through his mind. He knew she was less accurate when focusing on speed. Gritting his teeth, he went into a series of attacks that had her ghostly form on the defensive, and it was with a critical eye that he saw her grip shift slightly, her attacks coming in faster. He caught her blade with his sword and knocked her dagger arm out, raising his shield to block the attack he knew was coming in from her main hand before he stabbed in.

Her eyes were wide and bewildered when his blade found its mark, sinking into her belly, and he yanked it out and stepped back, horrified, as she sank to the ground. The hurt in her eyes was too real, restful and accusing. The ghost vanished, leaving no trace on the ground or his sword, but he could still feel the ripping guilt and turned away, almost frantic to see her real and whole.

He _hated _this place.

Elissa was scrambling to her feet a few feet away, shoving the image of a dead spider off of her. It twitched once more just before it vanished. She was pulling frantically at her clothes, shuddering violently and red-faced. "Ugh! _Morrigan_!"

Alistair winced, the last few moments immediately forgotten as he tried not to laugh at the sight of Elissa hysterical over _this_, of all things. "Okay over there, love?"

"No!" She gave one last dramatic shudder and stomped her foot. "I'm not! Next time _you _take Morrigan!"

He gave into the urge and laughed. "Twist my arm, why don't you?"

Morrigan sighed, looking at them in disgust. "You are both _idiots_."

… … …

He _definitely _hated this place.

He hated puzzles and mysteries and awkward questions during normal situations. This was so much worse, making his head spin and his stomach churn, and there seemed to be no end to it.

Seeing Elissa standing out on a piece of bridge that could vanish if one of them stepped wrong, hovering over a fathoms deep gorge, was doing _nothing _for his nerves.

But Elissa seemed confident enough that she had solved the puzzle, directing them in a steady voice until she made it to the other side. Much to his relief, a real bridge appeared. If he had been thinking clearly at all, he might not have trusted that so much, but all he could think just then was getting _out _of this place, of being done and well on their way back to Redcliffe, where he wouldn't have to think so hard for a few weeks, at least.

"Maker's breath," he said when he reached Elissa's side. "Andraste only favored the clever, it seems."

"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting this to be easy," she answered. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"Do I?" He managed to hold that nonchalance for all of two seconds before his frustrations burst out of him in a sudden rush of words he barely understood himself. "If this works, Eamon owes us _so much more _than a stupid army. He owes us… things. Lots of things. Money. And a castle. And cake. Lots of it. With _real _sugar. From Orlais."

He paused, a little stunned at that small fit of temper, but Elissa was laughing, apparently in agreement with him. "I'm with you on the cake part."

He was so pleased to see her smiling, he didn't immediately notice the change in their surroundings as they moved into the next chamber. "And cookies. And anything else we take a fancy to, I'd imagine. Then we can… _Holy Maker_." His joking died away on a long breath. They were in a room that resembled a great hall. A wall of flame flared up before them, causing the group to fall back, shielding their eyes from the heat. Beyond the flames, Alistair could see a long stairway leading up to a dais, and beyond it, a heavy urn resting on a place of honor at the top.

Alistair hadn't really considered how deep his beliefs might have gone, more intent on leaving the Chantry than reflecting anything he had been taught. But at the sight he felt his heart hammering in his chest, something light and inexplicable filling him to the brim and spilling over in a murmur of awe. "By the Maker, it's... it's the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Andraste's resting place. She's really _here_."

"Indeed. Now if you might propose how we can _reach _her, you may prove to be of some use."

Alistair glared at Morrigan, but she was already preoccupied, leaning over an old alter with Elissa that had some sort of writing scrawled into it. Alistair saw the thoughtful look on both of them and sighed. _Wonderful. More riddles_. He barely spared another glance at the altar, intent on the urn just a short distance away. "I think…" He turned his attention back to Elissa, but whatever he had been about to say suddenly stuck in his throat. "Wha…what are you doing?"

Elissa glanced back at him as she dropped her belt to the ground and reached for the laces to her leather. "Stripping."

"I can see that," he said, his voice a little shaky as he backed away a step. "_Why _are you stripping?"

Elissa grinned, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "What did _you _think it meant by casting off our worldly trappings?"

Alistair glanced around to find that the other two were also removing their clothing, apparently fine with this, though Zevran was laughing quietly. "We need more adventures of this nature, I think."

Elissa was dropping her chemise, revealing the smooth lines of her back to him. "Alistair, you're holding up the group."

"Why don't you go on ahead?" He felt his feet retreating a few more steps. "Someone needs to stay here and… guard the door."

Elissa sighed, and he felt his pulse leap up a notch when she reached for the laces to her breeches. Alistair closed his eyes, swallowing the urge to whimper. He couldn't imagine any reason at all that Elissa would suddenly be getting naked in the same room as _Andraste's Urn _except that he was personally, publicly being punished for some horrible sin he had committed without realizing it.

"Come on, Alistair," Elissa said, her voice gentle though he could still detect a hint of laughter in it. "This is a pious thing."

He didn't see any piety in the fact that now he had seen Morrigan's breasts _before _he got to see Elissa's, but that line of thinking was only going to make things worse. Determinedly not looking at the others but painfully aware he had just set himself up for an audience, he began removing his armor, wondering if it was possible to die of humiliation. He was fairly certain trying to walk through the flames with his clothes on wouldn't matter soon—he was going to burn alive on the spot.

Zevran certainly wasn't helping matters. The elf was watching him intently, his lips curling up into a slow, sensual smile. Alistair stripped off his shirt with a growl and threw it in the assassin's face. "You're doing that on purpose!"

"Do you have such a problem with your body?"

"I have a problem with _yours_."

"Zevran, knock it off," Elissa said, and stepped forward towards the flames. Suddenly everyone's attention was on her, and even Alistair forgot all about the fact she was naked as she slowly approached the barrier and cautiously reached out toward the flame. Her fingers had barely touched the fire when the flames suddenly died, and the Guardian reappeared, granting them invitation to take from the Urn.

Elissa seemed to slump in response, too overwhelmed to speak at first. Her eyes met his before anyone's, reaching out a hand to him. "Are you coming with me?"

"Of course I am." Alistair swallowed, glancing around uneasily. "Um… right after I put my clothes back on."


	36. Destiny

**A/N**: _Another chapter and a lengthy explanation later today._

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

_**Destiny**_

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_Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions_

_~ Woody Allen_

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It had been almost three months since the companions departed from Redcliffe for Denerim, and the sight of high stone walls that contained rooms and beds made Elissa pause and draw a deep breath, relief washing over her so powerfully she took a moment just to savor it. She clutched the pouch that carried the Sacred Ashes in a hand that trembled slightly, exhaustion and a strange nervousness wilting through her limbs as the approached the castle.

The group was met with a flurry of activity, rushed headlong into recounting the tale more times than Elissa could remember and endless discussions about the best way to utilize the Ashes. Teagan's sense of thorough logic, though generally appreciated, began to wear away at her almost as much as Isolde's customary hysterics, leaving her eager to seek out a measure of solitude. She locked herself into her borrowed chamber with the coming of the dusk, listening to nothing more than the soothing sounds of the night—the humming of insects, the quiet splash of the fountain in the garden—diminishing everything else around her, including the cries of her own wandering thoughts.

Alistair remained by the arl's bedside for the next couple of days, anxiously waiting for the spell to be prepared and prove that the trek through the mountains hadn't been a complete waste of time. She had no idea how to reassure him, how to explain that it was worth the risk regardless of the outcome, but she tried to offer him her support all the same, standing quietly and squeezing his hand on the morning of the spell while the mages uttered long litanies of incantations and prayers over the arl's unconscious form. In the silence that followed, it seemed no one dared to even breathe, the soft whisper of magic flickering and shimmering along the blankets until it settled like a cloud over the dying man.

Arl Eamon's eyes fluttered open.

… … …

The next few days passed quietly, the companions taking every opportunity to rest while the arl slowly regained his strength. Leliana had taken to waking earlier than the others, stealing a few moments in the garden at sunrise to simply enjoy the freshness of each morning, to think of nothing harsher than dew and grass and leaves that trembled in gentle breezes. It was her sanity and her strength, finding the thin trails of light in a darkness that hung over them always.

She was surprised that morning to find the arl up and about, looking somewhat pale but healthy all the same. He was just coming in from the garden. Leliana could see a pale pink flower cupped in the palm of his hand. He stared at it with such intensity she began to wonder if there was something there she wasn't seeing, but as he neared, he looked up at her with a sheepish smile and offered the blossom towards her. "A curious thing, life," he said, tipping the dewy flower into her hand. "Sometimes it takes a great deal to make us fully appreciate it."

"Most understandable, my lord. But then, it's those times we take to fully appreciate it that make it truly enjoyable, no?"

He laughed, agreeing, "I was just going inside to enjoy one of the better benefits in the form of breakfast. Would you care to join me?"

"Of course, my lord."

Alistair and Elissa were already there ahead of them, sitting at the end of the long table with their heads bent together, laughing quietly at something only they understood. Leliana smiled at the sight, but she noticed Arl Eamon pause in his step, his clear blue eyes lingering on the intertwined hands on the table. He straightened, looking suddenly thoughtful. "I had not realized they were involved."

"Quite." Leliana smiled.

"She is a Cousland, is she not?"

Leliana raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn't seem to notice the sudden wariness that washed over her at the calculating look in his eyes. "Elissa would say she is a Grey Warden," she answered, watching him carefully.

"But that was her family name before her Joining. This is... advantageous."

Leliana didn't fully understand what he was getting at or just how he assumed he would be able to use Elissa's blood to his benefit, but she didn't like it.

She would have to warn both of them.

… … …

Evening was closing in around the castle of Redcliffe, the crimson sunset reflecting of the calm, clear water of the lake, sending golden sparkles dancing along the rocks and roundhouses. This was Elissa's favorite time of day, Alistair knew, and he did his best that particular evening not to spoil it with his customary rambling, instead enjoying the quiet way she was lying with her head in his lap, allowing him to run his fingers through her hair as she gazed out at the water from their spot beside the lake. The last few days had been a bit of a blur to him, days of peaceful relaxation with Elissa by his side, enjoying the simplicity of each other's company without the constant need to look over his shoulder or worry about strange sounds in the night. He found himself longing for a time when this could be _normal_, a regular habit rather than a brief moment of time that had to be savored.

More and more, he was realizing that Elissa was a key component to those fantasies.

They were interrupted long before he would have liked, approached by an immaculately clean young boy wearing the colors of the arl's household. "Master Alistair?"

It took a moment for Alistair to realize that the page was talking to _him_. "Uh, yeah?"

"Arl Eamon requests your presence in the great hall as soon as you are able, ser. He says it's a matter of some importance."

Alistair heard Elissa sigh softly to herself as the page took his leave, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "He's been monopolizing you quite a bit lately. Is that normal?"

No, it most assuredly _wasn't _normal, and Alistair was beginning to wonder about it himself. While it was perfectly reasonable that Eamon would jump into action once the news of the civil war and the theft of the crown had reached him, he wasn't discussing those things with Alistair as much as he was Elissa. With him, he mostly spent the time asking questions that were making Alistair increasingly more uncomfortable—things like whether Elissa knew who his father was and what she thought about it. While the young Alistair would have adored as much attention as he seemed to be getting from the arl these days, the adult version had a _girlfriend. _It made the constant slew of interruptions more than a little bit irritating.

He sighed to himself and unwillingly forced himself to his feet. "He probably just wants to discuss his newest set of plans."

"Maybe." She looked skeptical, but didn't remark on it further, instead stretching her arms over her head and taking a deep breath. He tried very hard to ignore the fascinating things it did to her figure. "Sometimes I wish we could just hide from all of them. Just for a little while."

He chuckled softly. "You're talking to the master. I probably know the secrets of this castle better than anyone in Redcliffe. In fact..." he glanced around, realizing for the first time just where they were. "Come with me."

She took his hand, following him along the lake until they reached a small gathering of trees on the northern side of the island. Elissa paused and drew back when he started up the steep cliff of rocks. "Where are we going?"

"Just follow me. Don't you trust me?"

"Not particularly at this moment."

He only laughed. "There's a path of sorts. Well, there's no heavy climbing, at least. Come on. I want to show you something."

She still looked doubtful, but followed him up, skittering up the steep incline with a tight hold on his hand, wary of slipping. "Why on earth did you climb this?"

He shrugged. "Boredom, I suspect. Or possibly trying to weasel out of my chores. I don't really remember. Although..." he added as he stooped down to duck beneath an overhanging branch, "I seem to recall it being a bit easier when I wasn't this tall."

"Brilliant. I'm not exactly short, you know."

"Oh, suck it up, Liss." He finally reached the top and pulled her up behind him, revealing a small outcropping backed by an outer wall covered in ivy and tiny white flowers. The lake gleamed pale purple beneath the evening sky, reflecting the first stars. In the distance, they could clearly see the Circle Tower, black and magnificent against the deepening sky. Elissa drew in a breath, looking around in awe. "This is beautiful."

"Yep." He sat down in the soft grass, patting a place beside him for her to join him. She did, immediately curling up at his side beneath his arm. "I used to come here a lot when I needed to be alone."

She smiled. "I could stay here forever."

Alistair was fairly certain she meant that in a strictly figurative way, but the idea had been there for long enough that he couldn't let an opportunity like that pass. All the same, he was a little terrified of the answer. He forced the question out with some effort. "Could you? Really?"

She was quiet for a moment, and he swore he felt her stiffen slightly, which didn't exactly _help_. "After the Blight, you mean?" He wanted to answer, but his voice no longer seemed to be working, so he could offer no more than a pathetic sort of nod. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling pools in the dimming light. "I don't think the where is the important part. Do you?"

Relief flooded through him. "Not really. I was just thinking that I already know my way around here, and all. I know the local lord, I think I've mentioned before. But I'm pretty good with horses, as well. Not exactly partial to lakes or the ocean or… whatever. I'm actually a pleasant kind of guy to have around, come to think. Handy, too."

She laughed. "I'm aware."

He fiddled with a piece of grass in front of him. "Sooo… do you? Have a preference?"

She sat up, feigning the expression that meant she was deep in thought. "I really do love this lake. And… other things about Redcliffe."

He smiled. "Noted." The sky was dark enough that he could read her expression clearly, alerting him to a small dilemma he hadn't considered. "Um, we'll see if you still love it when we go toppling down the side of this cliff and into its rocky depths."

To his relief, Elissa only laughed. "You can't find your way back down, can you?"

"Not so much."

She stood up, shrugging as she dusted off her backside. "No worries. Isn't the garden just over this wall?"

He scrambled up beside her. "And you're going to do what? Break into Redcliffe Castle?"

She didn't answer, grabbing a handful of ivy to secure her already practiced step as she began to climb. Alistair only chuckled to himself and followed behind her, dropping down into the garden nearly as quietly as she did.

Elissa brushed the dirt from her hands and pushed her hair out of her face. "Eamon should tighten up his security. Any assassin could do that."

"Maybe. It's also possible we're not nearly as stealthy as you'd like to think and there's a crowd of guards laughing at us just inside the gates, you realize."

"Bite your tongue." She wrapped her arm around his waist, the other hand idly toying with the ties of his shirt. "How long do you think Eamon's going to keep you?"

There was a hesitation in the question that he didn't know what to make of. "I suppose that depends a lot on what you're going to say next."

She was quiet for a moment, weighing her words. "Are you still going to meet me in my room later?"

"I'd like to see you try to stop me." He realized the implications of that and groaned, rubbing his eyes while she laughed. "I meant that to be more cute and less creepy than it sounded."

"I know what you meant." Still giggling, she stood up on tiptoe and pulled him closer. "Just… try to get out of there as soon as you can, okay?" She was kissing him before he could answer. Alistair responded readily, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him. He was still feeling light and giddy from their conversation moments before, and he kissed her with abandon, savoring the taste of her on his tongue.

Then everything changed.

Elissa and he had gotten more and more daring during their nightly encounters in her tent or her room, and the heat he had felt on those occasions suddenly sprang up between them without warning. He had wanted her for _so long_, wanted to lose himself in her soft skin and warm breath until nothing else in the world mattered. He realized what was happening and broke away, taking a step away from her for good measure. "I think…" his voice was uneven and he worked to steady it, "I think maybe I'd better go to my own room, after all."

She studied him for long, agonizing moments. Her eyes were warm in the moonlight, regarding him with a seriousness that made him a little nervous. When she finally spoke, she sounded as breathless as he felt. "Are you sure that's what you really want?"

It felt as if the world dipped, then evened out beneath him. Even he wasn't so dense not to know what she was offering, and the discovery Elissa desired him went to his head like mead. He still felt a little dizzy as he inched forward, barely thinking about what he was doing. His hand moved forward to rest on the soft swell of her hip, and something in her eyes simmered and caught fire. "No," he whispered before sealing his mouth over hers.

He felt her fingers tighten on his shoulders, a small moan escaping from somewhere deep within her. He breathed in the sound and pulled her closer, tilting her head back further. Both hands found her hips, melding them against him, yearning for another breathless noise from her. Elissa just seemed to melt into him, responding to his barely-restrained passion in complete surrender of herself. Alistair had never felt such loss of control before, desire awakening his every nerve. All he knew was that he had to be _closer_, needed to feel more of her. He leaned forward until his hands met cold stone, pushing her against it with his own body.

She was arching against him, the warm weight of her heavy breasts pressed against his chest as she continued to kiss him—slow, hungry kisses that stole his breath and made his blood boil. His mouth left hers to trail down her throat, and he thrilled in the sound of her gasp. Her thigh rode up between his legs, sinuously sliding against his arousal, sending little sparks dancing behind his eyes. He groaned against her skin, pushing back instinctively. Elissa's breath seemed to shudder in her throat, revealing itself in a strangled whimper, and he reached down and grasped her knee, pulling her leg up around his waist, and it was _almost _close enough. He could feel the heat of her against him, touch the damp skin of the small of her back as his hand found the soft flesh beneath her shirt.

Aiden galloping around the corner was only enough to make him pull back marginally at first, forcefully reminding him that they were still _outside_ and should probably take this somewhere more private, but Elissa's open mouth on his neck was almost enough to make him forget his resolve.

Until he heard Teagan, that was.

"Did you find him?"

The words completely managed to shatter the intoxicating atmosphere. Alistair broke away from Elissa without a second thought, hastily detangling his limbs from hers and nervously shoving his hands through his hair, trying to pull himself together. Aiden was trying to squeeze between them, looking inordinately pleased with himself. Alistair couldn't quite speak just yet and so had to settle for glaring at the animal. _You no good, traitorous, flea-ridden…_

Either Teagan sensed something was going on he probably didn't want to see, or Alistair had a bit of luck left, because he didn't come around the corner. "Alistair? Are you out here? Eamon's climbing the walls looking for you."

"I'll be right in!"

Once Teagan's footsteps had faded off into the distance, Elissa allowed herself a small, rueful laugh, raising a shaky hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Maker's breath! Caught in the garden. I feel like I'm sixteen again."

That helped to cool his ardor considerably. "Who were you doing that with when you were sixteen?"

She rolled her eyes. "I never did _that _with anyone—you can put the scowl away." She straightened her clothes—Alistair was startled to realize her shirt was untucked and looked down to find himself in a similarly rumpled state. "I suppose we'd better go see what the arl wants."

He didn't think he could have heard that right. "_Now_?"

She smiled at him over her shoulder. "Considering how many interruptions we've already suffered, I'd rather not put this one to the test. He'll be pounding at your chamber door himself in ten minutes."

Alistair thought to himself that ten minutes was probably more than enough time, but he wasn't going to say that to _her_. He stood there for a moment, fuming but unable to refute her logic. He could, however, place the blame on the collaborator that had helped track him down. He reached out and grabbed Aiden's collar, bending at the waist to keep the threat too low for Elissa to hear. "Listen, mongrel—I'm not falling for the whole dumb beast act. You did that on purpose. This just got primal."

Aiden growled and twisted his head, snapping at the offending fingers before he trotted along behind Elissa. Alistair scowled, positive that wretched dog was laughing at him.

… … …

Alistair was more than a little mortified to find not only Leliana and Wynne but Sten also present in the great hall and waiting for him. _Blast_.

The arl walked back and forth across the dais, looking grave and troubled. He was a man who liked an audience, but then, that was where he excelled. "Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power."

Teagan frowned, leaning back in his chair. "I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon. He is mad with ambition, I tell you."

Arl Eamon nodded, and Alistair got the sneaking suspicion he had just been setting someone else to say it. "Mad indeed. Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end." He turned to Elissa. "What will you do? Take your few forces and throw yourself at the darkspawn? To triumph, you will need all of Ferelden behind you."

Elissa's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's worked for the Grey Wardens in the past." Alistair immediately felt the shift in her, mild annoyance spiraling into something that felt almost like fear. She disguised it well, her eyes narrowing further as she crossed her arms, but he could feel it churning beneath the surface. "But, something tells me you already have another solution in mind, my lord."

Eamon leaned back on his heels, stroking his beard at her unexpected candor. "Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen." He paused. "Someone of royal blood."

Teagan looked up sharply at the same moment Alistair's stomach landed somewhere near his feet. "Are you talking about _Alistair_?"

He might have been offended by the astonishment of the question, had it not been so very justified. "_Me_?"

Arl Eamon looked at him sympathetically. "I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."

"Alistair is a bastard that people have taken great pains to keep a secret," Elissa said. He would have been hurt by the coolness of her tone, but he could still feel that churning sensation in her stomach. "Any claim made by him would be wide open to resistance, and justifiably so. The Landsmeet has no reason to believe him."

"My word carries quite a bit of weight with it, Warden… as does yours."

Elissa stiffened. "You expect _me _to back this claim?"

"The Cousland banner is not forgotten in Ferelden simply because of Arl Howe's ambitions."

Alistair was getting a little tired of all this talk about him when he was standing _right there_. "And what about me? Does anyone care what I want?"

Eamon glanced his way, apparently surprised by the objection. "You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?"

"I... but I..." He slumped back. "No, my lord." Anger surged through him, but Elissa was only looking at Eamon, eyeing him with a small, twisted smile on her face.

Eamon seemed not to notice. "I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all of Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin." He turned back to Elissa, looking hesitant for the first time since this ridiculous discussion had begun. "What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing."

Elissa shook her head. "I won't give any definite answer right now. We both need time to consider our options." She reached up and rubbed her eyes. "Now, it's quite late. If you'll excuse me, my lords?"

She left the room without glancing his way.

Eamon drew a deep breath, giving his attention back to Alistair. "Talk to her. You can make her understand."

It was all Alistair could do not to roll his eyes. _How am I supposed to do that when I don't understand this myself_? He didn't voice his doubts, though, more concerned with catching up with Elissa. Instead, he only nodded, hopping down from the dais to go after her.

Wynne and Leliana immediately descended on him, both talking at once.

"Alistair—"

"How could you have kept something like this—?"

"I know, but please, not now," he said, just managing to dodge both of them as he increased his pace to a jog through the halls of the castle. Elissa had nearly reached her room by the time he caught her. "Elissa, wait. Let me explain."

She paused, but didn't turn to look at him. Her voice was exceptionally quiet. "There's nothing to explain. You were honest with me almost right away, Alistair. I'm not mad at you."

"But still… I never thought it would come to this! When Cailan got married, everyone thought it was best to just... have me step aside. It was a relief. I don't want anything to do with this."

She sighed, then finally turned to him. He didn't like the look in her eyes, and kind of weary resignation that broke his heart. "I knew this might happen. The country is being torn apart, and you are an actual heir of the blood. Eamon would have to be a fool not to see it and try to use it to end the fighting."

He swore he felt his heart stop for a moment. The thought that Elissa might actually _agree _with this reasoning had never even occurred to him. "Is he right? Is this the best chance there is to end the civil war?"

"Yes," she said quietly, and closed the door in his face.


	37. Of First Knights and Kings

**A/N**: _Oh, yeah. Both these chapters are rated M, as is the rest of the story now, for future searching purposes. Sorry 'bout that. Longer note at the bottom of the chapter._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Seven<strong>

_**Of First Knights and Kings**_

_._

_I want to believe that this is for real_

_Save me from my fear_

_~Within Temptation_

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The next day dawned windy and cool, the dark, opaque clouds on the horizon promising a formidable storm before the day was over. Alistair spent most of the morning locked up with Arl Eamon while the man tried to wheedle a straight answer from him regarding his cooperation with this new scheme. It was becoming clearer to Alistair as the hours passed that Eamon wasn't sure how to deal with Elissa, and so had determined not to even try.

The thought amused him a little.

By late afternoon, Alistair had had more than enough of her avoiding him. This was nothing of his doing, damn it—he was done taking the heat for it.

It took him a little while to find her. The sky outside had grown dark and foreboding, the wind whipping furiously through the courtyard, stirring up the grasses and sending leaves dancing in spirals along the dusty ground.

Elissa seemed not to have noticed the turn the weather had taken. She was alone in the courtyard, hacking away at one of the practice dummies like it had personally stolen something from her. She had managed to work herself up into a full rage, her eyes narrow and her teeth clenched as she practiced, too caught up in her exercise to notice him. Alistair leaned against the wall, watching her. After a while she stepped back and wiped her face with her sleeve, looking for all the world like she didn't know whether to scream or cry.

She spotted him, then, and began fidgeting in embarrassment that he had seen her momentary lapse of control. Apparently not sure what to say, she gestured weakly at the weapon rack. "You up for going a few rounds?"

He hesitated, but honestly didn't know what to say, either. He didn't quite understand what was going on in her head, and was hesitant to provoke it further when she seemed to be calming slightly. Instead, he shrugged and went over to collect a blunted weapon, figuring that sparring was as good an outlet as any.

At first, he was overly conscious of everything he did, afraid that in his current mood he might inadvertently hurt her. She was still worked up, though, and before he knew it they were going full speed, all thought of safety disintegrating into a burning need to take their growing frustration out on anything available.

Without warning, she hooked her foot behind his ankle and yanked, and he was flat on his back with Elissa hovering over him, her dagger pressed against his neck. He rolled his eyes. "Really? You couldn't have gone easy on me just this once?"

She sat back, a weak ghost of a smile playing across her lips. "No."

He barely heard the answer. Soft weight rested on his middle and around him, and he realized with a jolt that Elissa was straddling him.

That quickly, his body had a whole new idea for ridding him of this unwanted tension.

He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin linen shirt, soft and damp beneath his hands. Her chest was still heaving from the exertion, full lips parted slightly as she looked down at him. He moved without thinking, simply the barest hint of an idea of lifting her off of him, but now she was straddling him _and _he had a handful of those gorgeous hips.

He closed his eyes, swallowing a groan. _Maker, please don't let her move any lower_.

"Are you okay?"

He sat up so abruptly Elissa went tumbling off of him with a small yelp, landing on her backside in the grass. "You win."

The first splashes of rain began to fall around them, pattering softly in the grass with a heaviness that promised a downpour soon. It gave him the excuse he needed to scramble up, reaching down hurriedly to tug her to her feet. "C'mon, we'd better get inside."

By the time they ran through the courtyard and into a side door that led to the kitchens, they were fairly drenched. Outside, a peal of thunder rumbled overhead, clearly heard through the hall amidst the crackling of fires in the hearths, servants bustling around to try to ward of the damp.

Elissa made a face as she pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall in soft, damp waves down her back. "I need to change."

"Oh… okay," he said weakly as she walked away from him without another word.

… … …

Elissa couldn't shake a single thought from her mind as she hurried through the halls of Redcliffe Castle, desperately trying not to hate the inhabitants as they watched her in some surprise, possibly wondering what could be wrong with her. She couldn't help it. Despite her liking Teagan and her affection for Connor, even her respect for Arl Eamon, they had all become one enemy in her mind, a singular mind bent on only one plan of action.

They were going to take him away from her.

She managed to get to her room before the tears spilled over, hot against her clammy skin as she impatiently wiped at her eyes, trying very hard not to _think_. Her insides were a quivering mess, heavy and sinking with the knowledge that everything was falling apart and she was able to do nothing more than watch it happen. With a loud sniff, Elissa forcefully pushed the thought from her mind, concentrating instead on the matter of wet clothes and cold air—problems she was equipped to deal with that wouldn't send her spiraling into a sobbing mess.

Someone had already built up the fire in her room, and she tossed on another stack of kindling before she pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it into a sodden limp in the corner of the room, her trousers soon following. She managed to get a dry shirt over her head before she sank down into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She had known this would happen, ever since the first day Alistair confessed his heritage to her. The sole heir to a magnificent, dying bloodline would never be easily overlooked during a civil war that threatened to tear Ferelden to pieces.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Alistair suddenly barged into the room without warning, looking harried and upset. "Elissa, enough. I need to talk to y—_holy Maker_!"

She almost laughed at the way his eyes widened at her appearance before he spun on his heel and gave her his back, whatever determination he had marched in with spilling away to consternation. She took the opportunity to scrub her face with her hands, trying to remove any trace of tears before she reached for her loose woolen pants and yanked them on, grumbling, "I _told _you I needed to change."

He made a strangled sound that seemed to neither agree nor disagree with that statement, still shifting his weight uncomfortably. Elissa felt herself smile. "You've seen me _naked _before you realize."

That only seemed to agitate him further. "Yeah, but you didn't know I was looking, then! I mean… I didn't look…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. "Right. I'm going to go now, and never stop kicking myself."

She tied the drawstring at her waist and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. "You can turn around. It's safe."

He did so slowly, as if he didn't quite believe her, stealing a rapid glance over his shoulder before the rest of his body followed. "I, um, wanted to talk to you."

"So you said." When he didn't say anything, she raised an eyebrow at him, not exactly impatient but not in the right state of mind to help him pull himself together, either. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean… I'm a little nervous, sure…" His voice trailed off and he ran a hand through his hair. "I just realized I have no idea how to ask you this." He took a deep breath. "Okay, here's the thing…" He risked a glance at her, and Elissa discovered it was the first good look he had gotten before his rather embarrassing entrance. "Have you been crying?"

Her hands went up to self-consciously wipe at her eyes again. "That's not what you came in here to ask me."

"No, but it's just become my pressing concern." He moved forward, reaching out to raise her chin with the tips of his fingers. "Elissa?" The honest care that warmed his eyes was nearly enough to break her heart. His hand slid around her waist, drawing her against him. "Please tell me what you're thinking."

She looked at him seriously. "The same thing you're thinking, I think."

"Then just… tell me we'll try. Tell me…" he paused, his heart in his eyes, pleading with her. "Tell me you don't want to lose _me_, either."

Elissa heard the hesitant twang of hope in his words and shame flooded through her. In all her dealings with her own feelings, she had never once taken the time to consider what she was doing to Alistair. He had obviously interpreted her inability to wear her heart on her sleeve as sheer indifference, rather than the honest fear of just how easily she could fall in love with him.

_Had fallen in love with him_.

The truth hit her hard, sending her mind reeling in a thousand different directions. This wouldn't _work_, it was senseless and irresponsible… and wonderful… "Of course I d-don't."

He kissed her. It wasn't sweet and intoxicating, the way he usually kissed her. It was raw and needful, a combination of anxiety and hunger left starving from the night before. His tongue was on her lips, pushing them apart, and she captured it like a prize, returning the kiss with a hunger of her own. Her mind was whirling, thoughts sent into fuzzy oblivion as she lost herself in the taste and feel of him. She would have crawled inside him if she could. He broke away to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her throat, turning her limbs weak.

She wanted his hands on her, wanted to run her own across warm skin without the barriers of linen and armor. She reached back, pulling his shirt out of his belt, sliding her hands up the contoured lines of his back, her fingernails dragging slightly along his skin. She heard Alistair gasp; he lifted his arms and helped her pull the fabric off, revealing bare skin and hard muscle before he reached down eagerly and lifted her own shirt up and off. He stopped suddenly then, his eyes smoldering, devouring the sight of her like a starving man at a feast.

"Maker's _breath_." His voice was thready and deep, a whispered reverence that made her shiver beneath his heated gaze. Elissa felt suddenly vulnerable, standing there in only her trousers, and tried to push down the quiver of fear that quaked through her as he drew her back against him. He was so much larger than she was, and she had never felt so exposed. She melded her body against his, kissing him to try and forget just how nervous she was as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to stumble over to the bed.

She could finally feel all of him, heated skin and coiled muscles as he lowered her beneath him; could feel the rapid beating of his heart and his weight pressing her down into the mattress. Her body quivered beneath his hesitant caresses of its own accord, her breath hitching in her throat. She felt his skin rise into tiny bumps beneath her palms.

He reached down to tug at the laces of her trousers, and she tried very hard to disguise the tension that snaked through her, trying to force herself to relax.

"Damn it," he muttered against her lips after a bit of a struggle, and there was a hint of a smile there. "There's a knot in these."

She laughed, surprised at how good it felt to do so. The nerves that had been twisting into an unwanted tangle suddenly relaxed, reminding her that the only reason they were doing this at all was because she trusted him. "I'm sure you can figure something out."

He rolled his eyes with a small smile at her lack of help and slid down, her arms braced on either side of her as he fumbled with the knot. "So much for my plans for a smooth seduction," he muttered beneath his breath when the tie gave way to a few strategic pulls, smiling at her quiet laugh before he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to her belly.

It was nothing like she had imagined. Romantic stories and heated encounters had her imagining something feverish and desperate, a loss of control that would carry her away on a wave of passion. Instead, he was tender and teasing as he got rid of the rest of her clothing, careful hands taking pleasure in slowly exploring bared flesh, finding even places that ticked and made her giggle and squirm. He wanted to learn all of her, alternating between lustful and playful, and the low sound of his laughter at her reactions caused her fear to shrivel up like leaves in a fire, blowing away on the winds while the storm raged outside.

When he sat up to unlace his own trousers she had one last moment of modesty, her eyes flying up to the ceiling. But then he was bending forward to slide his mouth back up her stomach and chest in a warm line of kisses that made desire course through her veins, pooling at her center. She lost herself, lost all trace of thought, existing only in this sheltered place where Alistair was making her tremble and quake with need, his breath warming every cold part of her as his mouth explored the places his hands had mapped before. The feel of his skin gliding against hers, the soft brush of her breasts on his chest and then he was looking down at her, his fingers tangling in her hair. Her legs had drawn up to curl on either side of him without conscious thought on her part, her arms wrapped around his neck and she could _feel _him pressed against her. It was all she could stand, heat flowing in every pore of her body and she moved against him in sheer instinct. He made a noise that sounded almost painful but took the hint, pulling back slightly to adjust himself.

He was trembling all over as he pushed into her, and _this _sensation was nothing like the slow, unhurried pace he had set so far. Something needful and urgent swelled in the pit of her stomach, urging her to push back. At the movement he moaned against her mouth and drove forward reflexively. Though she had expected the hot stab of pain, she couldn't help the small cry that escaped her, captured by Alistair's mouth before he broke away with a sharp gasp and dropped his head to her shoulder.

"Are…" his voice was ragged and he hauled in a deep breath, "are you okay?"

His entire body was tense as a bowstring, the strain of not moving clear in the straining muscles of his back and shoulders. But the pain was already giving away to a dull ache, shadowed by the fullness deep within her, and she nodded, not coherent enough to form words. She put her hands on his shoulders as he began to move, and when Elissa whimpered at the flood of sensation it had very little to do with discomfort. Soft noises of satisfied pleasure bubbled up in her throat and past her lips, encouraging him to drive deeper. A tiny spark of something else began to grow deep within her, spreading through her in a stream of liquid heat. She tilted her hips by instinct alone, adjusting to the motion, and he bit back a groan, his hands curling into fists in the bedding. She began to work with him, wanting even more of him, the desire to be closer to him overwhelming her, to feel him, to need him, to make him need her.

She lifted her head to taste the skin of his neck, his chest. It was apparently too much for him; her name rumbled in his throat before he rose up to bear his weight on his hands. His eyes were dark with desire as he looked down at her, and Elissa felt her body tense, straining for release. She hooked her ankles at the small of his back, letting the oldest and rawest of human instinct guide her movements. His hips continued to roll against hers, harder, his breathing heavy and erratic. He was fighting for control—she could see it in his eyes.

Alistair made a noise that sounded more like a growl and reached down between their bodies, fingers fumbling for a moment before he found the center of her need. She heard her own loud gasp, felt her body arch against him as he thrust into her a final time with a low groan.

The world exploded.

… … ..

The room was abnormally dark, the black clouds outside casting a twilight dim in the small space despite it being barely midday. A cool, rain-soaked breeze slid through the cracks in the latched shutters, brushing across Elissa's sweat-dampened skin. She shivered.

"Cold?" Alistair was lying on his side with one hand resting on her waist, the blanket draped low on his hips and his hair still damp at the temples. His eyes were closed; he sounded close to sleep despite the early hour.

"Not really." She smiled when he pulled her a bit closer, anyway. "Did you want to talk to me about something?"

"Did I say that?"

"Mm-hmm. You seemed pretty adamant about it."

He laughed quietly, opening his eyes to give her a soft smile. "Whatever it was, it doesn't seem very importantly now." He sat up, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes warm as he smiled down at her. His other hand reached out to rub a strand of her hair between his fingers. "How did I never notice your hair was this curly before?"

"Oh, that," she said, a little self-conscious until she realized how ridiculous it was for her to be embarrassed over her _hair_, of all things. "I didn't know either until I cut it off. I thought I had outgrown that stage. I usually wrap it up until it dries, but you… distracted me."

"And I'll have you know it was very brave of me, too, considering it's raining and there's lightning all poised and ready to strike and everything."

She laughed. "_Very _brave."

He smiled, his fingers gently tracing her brow. "Or maybe I just thought it was worth the risk." He was quiet for a little while. "I'm so crazy about you I swear I must be losing my mind. Every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode—I can't think straight."

She hadn't been thinking all that clearly in the past few months, either. "I hope that's a good thing."

"So do I," he said a little wryly. "Here's the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you. Not… ever."

"I think…" She didn't want to consider the uncertain future or ramifications—or anything else for that matter. She just wanted to stay right where she was, pretending that the world outside was nothing more than a passing thunderstorm. "I think we should lock that door and spend the rest of the day right here."

He laughed and pulled her closer. "You know, I like the way you think."

… … …

Alistair was firmly buried in a deep sleep the following morning, dragged beneath the surface like a rock at the bottom of a lake. It took him a long time to realize the sounds he was hearing were not his dreams at all, but coming from outside the door. Even then, he was barely conscious when Leliana burst in with Aiden at her side. He groaned quietly. Really, this thing with people barging in on them all the time was getting more than a little tiresome. "I thought we locked that door."

Elissa stirred slightly beneath his arm, murmuring sleepily, "You left it open when you got up in search of food."

"Blast." Alistair lifted his head, glaring at Leliana through one eye. "Go away."

She crossed her arms, looking a little too determined for his liking. "I cannot do that, I'm afraid. I gave you all of yesterday, but there is something I have to discuss with both of you, right now."

At that moment, Aiden apparently decided to take matters into his own hands. Alistair saw his muscles bunch before he was suddenly leaping, landing heavily on Alistair's side of the bed. "_Oof_! Get off me, you ruddy mutt." He sat up, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand as he shoved the dog's enormous head out of his face. "All right, all right—we're up."

Elissa sighed and sat up. She had already slipped her shirt back on before falling asleep, and she reached for her pants and managed to slide them on beneath the covers before she reached over to pat Aiden. "Poor baby. I looked for you last night, but I couldn't find you. Did you have to sleep by yourself?"

"He was outside all night," said Leliana. "I found him this morning. Someone tied him up in the courtyard."

"Isolde," said Alistair, stretching. "She hates dogs. I'll warn her to tell the servants to leave him alone." He clutched the covers around his waist, not nearly as comfortable with the risk of putting his body on display as Elissa apparently was. "Um, Leliana?"

"Yes?"

"Leave."

"Oh! I'm sorry. Come, Elissa, let's go find something for your breakfast while we discuss a problem. I think you will react better on a full stomach."

Well, _that _certainly sounded foreboding. He and Elissa exchanged a glance before she turned to follow Leliana out into the hall. The moment the two women left, Aiden turned on Alistair fiercely, growling low in his throat.

He only smirked at the animal as he got up. "Don't get all huffy with me because you're so easily bribed. Maybe a night out in the rain will teach you what happens to third wheels and traitors, mongrel."

… … …

Teagan was more grateful than ever for Leliana's presence that morning as they gathered around the breakfast table. While he had come to greatly admire the woman, impressed by her sharp mind and casual grace, he had never before experienced her quick ability to diffuse a formidable temper.

He was coming to learn that Elissa's temper certainly fell under the definition of formidable.

He could hardly blame the girl. Teagan knew that Eamon was just as ruthless as any other noblemen when it came to getting his way, and he was better at manipulation than most, but even he was a little shocked by this turn of events. Eamon had crossed a line, and now they were left in a position where they could do nothing more than react. It was enough to frustrate anyone, he supposed.

They heard the whistling down the hall before Alistair came into view, looking as bright and chipper as a songbird this morning. The tension in the room was palpable, however, and it didn't take but a moment before the young man paused, eyeing them all with a degree of trepidation. "Okay, what's going on?"

Elissa's voice was completely flat as she answered, only a hint of her anger seeping through the careful mask of calm. "Eamon's taken it upon himself to announce the existence of an heir to the blood, and one closely associated with the last surviving Cousland."

The cheer Alistair had woken with abruptly drained away. "He did _what_?"

Teagan sighed and rubbed his eyes, leaving it to the young couple to hash it out in hurried whispers at the opposite end of the table. He could see Eamon's reasoning, of course. A blood claim would hold tremendous sway after so many months of civil war, and though it ached to admit it, Alistair was sharper than Cailan ever was. He could learn the role, if he truly wanted to. But he looked tired and desperately unhappy at the very thought—not a very good indication that he'd even try.

Still, the two that were currently discussing the situation were young, and more than a little reckless, and had spent far too long on the road leading without the benefit of a calmer mind to help them rationalize important decisions. Teagan decided it was time to intervene. "You must admit, my lady, that your association with Alistair is only a strength in this situation. It lends credence to these claims, as well as on yours as the Warden Commander of Ferelden. There is still a significant portion of the nobility who are undecided in this war. This may help to guide them in our direction."

Elissa frowned, unable to refute that reasoning. She sat back in her chair, arms crossed. "I realize that. I just don't much appreciate being _informed _of it."

He didn't point out that had her father and brother still been alive, she would likely have already been _informed_ that she was getting married. Teagan was nearly certain she was already Alistair's lover, and part of him could only be grateful he didn't have to smooth over the situation with the two intimidating men.

Still, it was hardly Eamon's place to do the honors in their absence.

Elissa looked considerably calmer than she had moments before, however, chewing at her lower lip as she thought the matter through. She was young, not stupid, and Teagan was confident she would be reasonable once her temper cooled. The sight of a bit of linen wrapped around Alistair's hand momentarily distracted her. "What happened to your hand?"

He hastily covered the bloody bandage with his other hand. "Um… nothing. I was just playing with Aiden and he got a little rough."

She looked startled. "He _bit _you?"

"Only in the sense that he put his teeth in my hand. It's fine. What were you saying?"

… … …

It was late before Alistair got another chance to be alone with Elissa. Even the revelation of Eamon's plans hadn't lessened his sudden desire to have him by his side constantly, prattling on about things that seemed somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme. Alistair suspected that Eamon was leery of letting him out of his sight now that the word about him was out and circulating—as if he hadn't had enough daggers aimed at his back already.

This was not going to be fun.

He finally found Elissa just as she was retiring for the night, stopping her just outside of her chamber. She had been exceptionally quiet for most of the day, lost in thought and beyond his reach_—not _really a place he wanted a woman he had just lost his virginity to to be. They hadn't had a chance to talk about anything between them, caught up in a new world of politics and web spinning. She smiled when she saw him, leaning up against the chamber door to wait.

That was something, at least.

Alistair didn't quite know what to say when he finally caught up with her, settling for reaching out for her hand. She didn't pull away from him—another good sign. "Hey. I'm sorry I barely saw you today. Eamon had a lot to talk about, it seems."

Her smile grew marginally wider. "You _could _try telling him back off, you know."

"That might end all life as we know it. Besides, I needed to straighten a few things out with him, as well. He has this new obsession with discussing my love life with him, including future plans for children. I thought it was time to set him straight. He was… not thrilled."

Elissa visibly winced. "You told him?"

He shrugged. "I thought he should know if he's going to be so determined to push for this." She looked stricken. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Let's just say I'd have preferred not telling him."

Irritation bubbled up just beneath the surface, warm enough that Alistair dropped Elissa's hand to reach up and rub his eyes. "Enough, please. Enough of the hints and subtleties and acting like this is all just going to go over my head. This is _my life _you two are arguing over. Just tell me what you're thinking already. I promise I'll do my best to keep up."

Elissa had the decency to look chagrined. "You're right. I'm sorry." She drew in a deep breath. "The problem, as Arl Eamon sees it, is that the country doesn't currently have a ruler aside from Loghain. He's right enough about that being shifted to our primary concern. Without leadership, we have no hope of ending this Blight."

"What about Anora?"

"Anora is acting as queen only because Loghain allows her to. With Loghain named as regent, and no heir to grant her the position of dowager, she lost all claim to her crown when Cailan died. She's nothing more than the regent's daughter. That's probably why we've heard nothing of her since this happened. If she confronts her father, he's likely to send her packing to Gwaren."

He mulled that over for a moment. "Hence his sudden interest in you."

Elissa nodded slowly. "I think he had some idea of pushing us forward as a pair. With your royal blood, and my family, we would hold a much stronger claim than either of them."

"As a… you mean, he wanted us to get _married_?" Alistair rocked back, a little stunned. The thought had never even occurred to him. It made sense. Some of the dread that had been plaguing him dissipated. "That… sounds a lot less terrible." She didn't look as relieved as he felt. "Doesn't it?"

"The Landsmeet won't stand for it once the news gets out that I can't have children," she said, her voice completely flat. "_I _couldn't do it. If you take the crown and don't produce an heir, this civil war starts again in thirty years, and this time, there would be no one left with even a hint of rightful claim. It could drag on… for centuries, really. Never doubt the determination of the nobility to destroy to get something they want, Alistair, _especially_ with something as appealing as a throne on the line." She sighed. "No, if you were to win this, they'd push you to marry someone of good, healthy breeding stock to increase your chances."

Well, that certainly simplified things. "Then I won't do it."

"It's not that simple, Alistair."

"It _is _that simple. I won't do it. We're not supposed to interfere with politics, anyway. How did Eamon put it? Gather our armies and throw ourselves at the Archdemon? Let's go with that."

"Alistair…"

"I'm _not _losing you, Elissa." He reached up lifted her chin, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "My bloodline has never done anything but take what I wanted away from me. I won't let it take you, too."

"But…"

"Elissa, stop." He stepped nearer, tilting her head back so she'd have to look at him. "Look, I love our witty banter as much as the next person, but it's time for some honesty, here. I don't want anything but you. We alreadydecided what's going to happen if we survive this Blight. We're coming back here. Together."

She smiled. "I doubt if our reception will be as warm as we thought it might be."

He shrugged. "I thought the where wasn't the important question."

"It's not."

"You really thought about this, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And you spent the night with me, anyway?"

She lifted her chin. The stubborn tilt to her jaw when he could still sense the pain beneath the surface made his heart swell in his chest, strengthening his resolve. He didn't think he could ever love anyone the way he loved this proud, infuriating woman. "We still have a Blight to get through, and that comes before any of Eamon's plans. You're still mine for now, aren't you?"

"I was yours the moment I turned around and found you standing behind me at Ostagar." He sighed, glancing at the chamber door behind her with the question growing between them, and decided as long as he was being honest, he might as well go for broke. "I have no idea how I'm going to keep my hands off you once we're back in camp with no privacy."

Her smile turned decidedly sly. "We should probably get it out of our system, before we're back on the road."

He looked at her for only a moment before his mouth was on hers, tugging at her shirt while she pulled at his belt as they tumbled through the chamber door.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**__: __**Please read!**_

_As a lot of you know, I've had a number of computer issues which led me to lose this story as well as its sister stories entirely. After a long bout of sulkiness and pouting, I determined I would try to write them again, and set out to do so._

_However, a series of personal blows in real life has made that all but impossible._

_I still bear enough love for these characters that I would rather see this fractured and incomplete then try to force voices I no longer carry and ruin them completely. Alistair and Elissa have been my inspiration, my sanity, and my friends for the better part of three years. I'll be sad to see them go, but this feeling I'm having seems very final, and I think it's time to say good-bye. These will be the final two chapters of Shades of Grey._

_I wanted to thank all my loyal, enthusiastic, wonderful readers for taking this journey with me. When I first came to this fandom, I had written only in secret, unsure if anyone wanted to hear anything I wanted to say. You have given me so much encouragement and fulfillment—I don't know exactly how to thank someone for making you feel like a writer, but I'm offering that thanks to all of you. You've been absolutely wonderful, and I'm so sorry I couldn't deliver a finished product._

_For those of you who can be patient with snippets of rambling that don't always add up, I'm uploading PDFs of the parts of both this story and Time After Time that I have left onto my deviantArt account just as soon as I can. You can find the link on my profile page. It can at least give you an idea of where I was going and a few more scenes to put the pieces together. A poor way to thank you, I realize, but hopefully there's a bit of enjoyment to be found in there._

_Once again, thank you for all the support and wonderful messages. Keep being awesome!_


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